PUD_HEAD.

The new negroes gave Roxy no trouble, of course. The master
gave her none, for one of his speculations was in jeopardy, and his
mind was so occupied that he hardly saw the children when he looked
at them, and all Roxy had to do was to get them both into a gale of
laughter when he came about; then their faces were mainly cavities
exposing gums, and he was gone again before the spasm passed and the
little creatures resumed a human aspect.

Within a few days the fate of the speculation became so dubious
that Mr. Percy went away with his brother the Judge, to see what
could be done with it. It was a land speculation as usual, and it
had gotten complicated with a lawsuit. The men were gone seven
weeks. Before they got back Roxy had paid her visit to Wilson, and
was satisfied. Wilson took the finger-prints, labeled them with the
names and with the date -- October the first -- put them carefully
away and continued his chat with Roxy, who seemed very anxious that
he should admire the great advance in flesh and beauty which the
babies had made since he took their finger-prints a month before. He
complimented their improvement to her contentment; and as they were
without any disguise of jam or other stain, she trembled all the
while and was miserably frightened lest at any moment he --

But he did n't. He discovered nothing; and she went home
jubilant, and dropped all concern about the matter permanently out of
her mind.


IV

Adam and Eve had many advantages, but the principal one was,
that they escaped teething.
--

There is this trouble about special providences -- namely,
there is so often a doubt as to which party was intended to be the
beneficiary. In the case of the children, the bears and the prophet,
the bears got more real satisfaction out of the episode than the
prophet did, because they got the children.
--

This history must henceforth accommodate itself to the change
which Roxana has consummated, and call the real heir "Chambers" and
the usurping little slave "Thomas a Becket" -- shortening this latter
name to "Tom," for daily use, as the people about him did.

"Tom" was a bad baby, from the very beginning of his
usurpation. He would cry for nothing; he would burst into storms of
devilish temper without notice, and let go scream after scream and
squall after squall, then climax the thing with "holding his breath"
-- that frightful specialty of the teething nursling, in the throes
of which the creature exhausts its lungs, then is convulsed with
noiseless squirmings and twistings and kickings in the effort to get
its breath, while the lips turn blue and the mouth stands wide and
rigid, offering for inspection one wee tooth set in the lower rim of
a hoop of red gums; and when the appalling stillness has endured
until one is sure the lost breath will never return, a nurse comes
flying, and dashes water in the child's face, and -- presto! the
lungs fill, and instantly discharge a shriek, or a yell, or a howl
which bursts the listening ear and surprises the owner of it into
saying words which would not go well with a halo if he had one. The
baby Tom would claw anybody who came within reach of his nails, and
pound anybody he could reach with his rattle. He would scream for
water until he got it, and then throw cup and all on the floor and
scream for more. He was indulged in all his caprices, howsoever
troublesome and exasperating they might be; he was allowed to eat
anything he wanted, particularly things that would give him the
stomach-ache.

When he got to be old enough to begin to toddle about and say
broken words and get an idea of what his hands were for, he was a
more consummate pest than ever. Roxy got no rest while he was awake.
He would call for anything and everything he saw, simply saying "Awnt
it!" (want it), which was a command. When it was brought, he said in
a frenzy, and motioning it away with his hands, "Don't awnt it! don't
awnt it!" and the moment it was gone he set up frantic yells of "Awnt
it! awnt it! awnt it!" and Roxy had to give wings to her heels to get
that thing back to him again before he could get time to carry out
his intention of going into convulsions about it.

What he preferred above all other things was the tongs. This
was because his "father" had forbidden him to have them lest he break
windows and furniture with them. The moment Roxy's back was turned
he would toddle to the presence of the tongs and say "Like it!" and
cock his eye to one side to see if Roxy was observing; then, "Awnt
it!" and cock his eye again; then, "Hab it!" with another furtive
glance; and finally, "Take it!" -- and the prize was his. The next
moment the heavy implement was raised aloft; the next, there was a
crash and a squall, and the cat was off on three legs to meet an
engagement; Roxy would arrive just as the lamp or a window went to
irremediable smash.

Tom got all the petting, Chambers got none. Tom got all the
delicacies, Chambers got mush and milk, and clabber without sugar.
In consequence Tom was a sickly child and Chambers was n't. Tom was
"fractious," as Roxy called it, and overbearing; Chambers was meek
and docile.

With all her splendid common sense and practical every-day
ability, Roxy was a doting fool of a mother. She was this toward her
child -- and she was also more than this: by the fiction created by
herself, he was become her master; the necessity of recognizing this
relation outwardly and of perfecting herself in the forms required to
express the recognition, had moved her to such diligence and
faithfulness in practising these forms that this exercise soon
concreted itself into habit; it became automatic and unconscious;
then a natural result followed: deceptions intended solely for others
gradually grew practically into self-deceptions as well; the mock
reverence became real reverence, the mock obsequiousness real
obsequiousness, the mock homage real homage; the little counterfeit
rift of separation between imitation-slave and imitation-master
widened and widened, and became an abyss, and a very real one -- and
on one side of it stood Roxy, the dupe of her own deceptions, and on
the other stood her child, no longer a usurper to her, but her
accepted and recognized master. He was her darling, her master, and
her deity all in one, and in her worship of him she forgot who she
was and what he had been.

In babyhood Tom cuffed and banged and scratched Chambers
unrebuked, and Chambers early learned that between meekly bearing it
and resenting it, the advantage all lay with the former policy. The
few times that his persecutions had moved him beyond control and made
him fight back had cost him very dear at headquarters; not at the
hands of Roxy, for if she ever went beyond scolding him sharply for
"forgitt'n' who his young master was," she at least never extended
her punishment beyond a box on the ear. No, Percy Driscoll was the
person. He told Chambers that under no provocation whatever was he
privileged to lift his hand against his little master. Chambers
overstepped the line three times, and got three such convincing
canings from the man who was his father and did n't know it, that he
took Tom's cruelties in all humility after that, and made no more
experiments.

Outside of the house the two boys were together all through
their boyhood. Chambers was strong beyond his years, and a good
fighter; strong because he was coarsely fed and hard worked about the
house, and a good fighter because Tom furnished him plenty of
practice -- on white boys whom he hated and was afraid of. Chambers
was his constant body-guard, to and from school; he was present on
the playground at recess to protect his charge. He fought himself
into such a formidable reputation, by and by, that Tom could have
changed clothes with him, and "ridden in peace," like Sir Kay in
Launcelot's armor.

He was good at games of skill, too. Tom staked him with
marbles to play "keeps" with, and then took all the winnings away
from him. In the winter season Chambers was on hand, in Tom's
worn-out clothes, with "holy" red mittens, and "holy" shoes, and
pants "holy" at the knees and seat, to drag a sled up the hill for
Tom, warmly clad, to ride down on; but he never got a ride himself.
He built snow men and snow fortifications under Tom's directions. He
was Tom's patient target when Tom wanted to do some snowballing, but
the target could n't fire back. Chambers carried Tom's skates to the
river and strapped them on him, then trotted around after him on the
ice, so as to be on hand when wanted; but he was n't ever asked to
try the skates himself.

In summer the pet pastime of the boys of Dawson's Landing was
to steal apples, peaches, and melons from the farmers' fruit-wagons,
-- mainly on account of the risk they ran of getting their head laid
open with the butt of the farmer's whip. Tom was a distinguished
adept at these thefts -- by proxy. Chambers did his stealing, and
got the peach-stones, apple-cores, and melon-rinds for his share.

Tom always made Chambers go in swimming with him, and stay by
him as a protection. When Tom had had enough, he would slip out and
tie knots in Chambers's shirt, dip the knots in the water to make
them hard to undo, then dress himself and sit by and laugh while the
naked shiverer tugged at the stubborn knots with his teeth.

Tom did his humble comrade these various ill turns partly out
of native viciousness, and partly because he hated him for his
superiorities of physique and pluck, and for his manifold
clevernesses. Tom could n't dive, for it gave him splitting
headaches. Chambers could dive without inconvenience, and was fond
of doing it. He excited so much admiration, one day, among a crowd
of white boys, by throwing back somersaults from the stern of a
canoe, that it wearied Tom's spirit, and at last he shoved the canoe
underneath Chambers while he was in the air -- so he came down on his
head in the canoe-bottom; and while he lay unconscious, several of
Tom's ancient adversaries saw that their long-desired opportunity was
come, and they gave the false heir such a drubbing that with
Chambers's best help he was hardly able to drag himself home
afterward.

When the boys were fifteen and upward, Tom was "showing off" in
the river one day, when he was taken with a cramp, and shouted for
help. It was a common trick with the boys -- particularly if a
stranger was present -- to pretend a cramp and howl for help; then
when the stranger came tearing hand over hand to the rescue, the
howler would go on struggling and howling till he was close at hand,
then replace the howl with a sarcastic smile and swim blandly away,
while the town boys assailed the dupe with a volley of jeers and
laughter. Tom had never tried this joke as yet, but was supposed to
be trying it now, so the boys held warily back; but Chambers believed
his master was in earnest, therefore he swam out, and arrived in
time, unfortunately, and saved his life.

This was the last feather. Tom had managed to endure
everything else, but to have to remain publicly and permanently under
such an obligation as this to a nigger, and to this nigger of all
niggers -- this was too much. He heaped insults upon Chambers for
"pretending" to think he was in earnest in calling for help, and said
that anybody but a blockheaded nigger would have known he was funning
and left him alone.

Tom's enemies were in strong force here, so they came out with
their opinions quite freely. They laughed at him, and called him
coward, liar, sneak, and other sorts of pet names, and told him they
meant to call Chambers by a new name after this, and make it common
in the town -- "Tom Driscoll's niggerpappy," -- to signify that he
had had a second birth into this life, and that Chambers was the
author of his new being. Tom grew frantic under these taunts, and
shouted --

"Knock their heads off, Chambers! knock their heads off! What
do you stand there with your hands in your pockets for?"

Chambers expostulated, and said, "But, Marse Tom, dey 's too
many of 'em -- dey 's -- "

"Do you hear me?"

"Please, Marse Tom, don't make me! Dey 's so many of 'em dat
-- "

Tom sprang at him and drove his pocket-knife into him two or
three times before the boys could snatch him away and give the
wounded lad a chance to escape. He was considerably hurt, but not
seriously. If the blade had been a little longer his career would
have ended there.

Tom had long ago taught Roxy "her place." It had been many a
day now since she had ventured a caress or a fondling epithet in his
quarter. Such things, from a "nigger," were repulsive to him, and
she had been warned to keep her distance and remember who she was.
She saw her darling gradually cease from being her son, she saw
detail perish utterly; all that was left was master -- master,
pure and simple, and it was not a gentle mastership, either. She saw
herself sink from the sublime height of motherhood to the somber
deeps of unmodified slavery. The abyss of separation between her and
her boy was complete. She was merely his chattel, now, his
convenience, his dog, his cringing and helpless slave, the humble and
unresisting victim of his capricious temper and vicious nature.

Sometimes she could not go to sleep, even when worn out with
fatigue, because her rage boiled so high over the day's experiences
with her boy. She would mumble and mutter to herself --

"He struck me, en I war n't no way to blame -- struck me in de
face, right before folks. En he 's al'ays callin' me nigger-wench,
en hussy, en all dem mean names, when I 's doin' de very bes' I kin.
Oh, Lord, I done so much for him -- I lift' him away up to what he is
-- en dis is what I git for it."

Sometimes when some outrage of peculiar offensiveness stung her
to the heart, she would plan schemes of vengeance and revel in the
fancied spectacle of his exposure to the world as an impostor and a
slave; but in the midst of these joys fear would strike her: she had
made him too strong; she could prove nothing, and -- heavens, she
might get sold down the river for her pains! So her schemes always
went for nothing, and she laid them aside in impotent rage against
the fates, and against herself for playing the fool on that fatal
September day in not providing herself with a witness for use in the
day when such a thing might be needed for the appeasing of her
vengeance-hungry heart.

And yet the moment Tom happened to be good to her, and kind, --
and this occurred every now and then, -- all her sore places were
healed, and she was happy; happy and proud, for this was her son, her
nigger son, lording it among the whites and securely avenging their
crimes against her race.

There were two grand funerals in Dawson's Landing that fall --
the fall of 1845. One was that of Colonel Cecil Burleigh Essex, the
other that of Percy Driscoll.

On his death-bed Driscoll set Roxy free and delivered his
idolized ostensible son solemnly into the keeping of his brother the
Judge and his wife. Those childless people were glad to get him.
Childless people are not difficult to please.

Judge Driscoll had gone privately to his brother, a month
before, and bought Chambers. He had heard that Tom had been trying
to get his father to sell the boy down the river, and he wanted to
prevent the scandal -- for public sentiment did not approve of that
way of treating family servants for light cause or for no cause.

Percy Driscoll had worn himself out in trying to save his great
speculative landed estate, and had died without succeeding. He was
hardly in his grave before the boom collapsed and left his hitherto
envied young devil of an heir a pauper. But that was nothing; his
uncle told him he should be his heir and have all his fortune when he
died; so Tom was comforted.

Roxy had no home, now; so she resolved to go around and say
good-by to her friends and then clear out and see the world -- that
is to say, she would go chambermaiding on a steamboat, the darling
ambition of her race and sex.

Her last call was on the black giant, Jasper. She found him
chopping Pudd'nhead Wilson's winter provision of wood.

Wilson was chatting with him when Roxy arrived. He asked her
how she could bear to go off chambermaiding and leave her boys; and
chaffingly offered to copy off a series of their finger-prints,
reaching up to their twelfth year, for her to remember them by; but
she sobered in a moment, wondering if he suspected anything; then she
said she believed she did n't want them. Wilson said to himself,
"The drop of black blood in her is superstitious; she thinks there 's
some devilry, some witch-business about my glass mystery somewhere;
she used to come here with an old horseshoe in her hand; it could
have been an accident, but I doubt it."

V

Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond;
cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education.
--

Remark of Dr. Baldwin's, concerning up-starts: We don't care to
eat toadstools that think they are truffles.
--

Mrs. York Driscoll enjoyed two years of bliss with that prize,
Tom -- bliss that was troubled a little at times, it is true, but
bliss nevertheless; then she died, and her husband and his childless
sister, Mrs. Pratt, continued the bliss-business at the old stand.
Tom was petted and indulged and spoiled to his entire content -- or
nearly that. This went on till he was nineteen, then he was sent to
Yale. He went handsomely equipped with "conditions," but otherwise
he was not an object of distinction there. He remained at Yale two
years, and then threw up the struggle. He came home with his manners
a good deal improved; he had lost his surliness and brusqueness, and
was rather pleasantly soft and smooth, now; he was furtively, and
sometimes openly, ironical of speech, and given to gently touching
people on the raw, but he did it with a good-natured semiconscious
air that carried it off safely, and kept him from getting into
trouble. He was as indolent as ever and showed no very strenuous
desire to hunt up an occupation. People argued from this that he
preferred to be supported by his uncle until his uncle's shoes should
become vacant. He brought back one or two new habits with him, one
of which he rather openly practised -- tippling -- but concealed
another, which was gambling. It would not do to gamble where his
uncle could hear of it; he knew that quite well.

Tom's Eastern polish was not popular among the young people.
They could have endured it, perhaps, if Tom had stopped there; but he
wore gloves, and that they could n't stand, and would n't; so he was
mainly without society. He brought home with him a suit of clothes
of such exquisite style and cut and fashion, -- Eastern fashion, city
fashion, -- that it filled everybody with anguish and was regarded as
a peculiarly wanton affront. He enjoyed the feeling which he was
exciting, and paraded the town serene and happy all day; but the
young fellows set a tailor to work that night, and when Tom started
out on his parade next morning he found the old deformed negro
bell-ringer straddling along in his wake tricked out in a flamboyant
curtain-calico exaggeration of his finery, and imitating his fancy
Eastern graces as well as he could.

Tom surrendered, and after that clothed himself in the local
fashion. But the dull country town was tiresome to him, since his
acquaintanceship with livelier regions, and it grew daily more and
more so. He began to make little trips to St. Louis for refreshment.
There he found companionship to suit him, and pleasures to his taste,
along with more freedom, in some particulars, than he could have at
home. So, during the next two years his visits to the city grew in
frequency and his tarryings there grew steadily longer in duration.

He was getting into deep waters. He was taking chances,
privately, which might get him into trouble some day -- in fact,
.

Judge Driscoll had retired from the bench and from all business
activities in 1850, and had now been comfortably idle three years.
He was president of the Free-thinkers' Society, and Pudd'nhead Wilson
was the other member. The society's weekly discussions were now the
old lawyer's main interest in life. Pudd'nhead was still toiling in
obscurity at the bottom of the ladder, under the blight of that
unlucky remark which he had let fall twenty-three years before about
the dog.

Judge Driscoll was his friend, and claimed that he had a mind
above the average, but that was regarded as one of the Judge's whims,
and it failed to modify the public opinion. Or rather, that was one
of the reasons why it failed, but there was another and better one.
If the judge had stopped with bare assertion, it would have had a
good deal of effect; but he made the mistake of trying to prove his
position. For some years Wilson had been privately at work on a
whimsical almanac, for his amusement -- a calendar, with a little dab
of ostensible philosophy, usually in ironical form, appended to each
date; and the Judge thought that these quips and fancies of Wilson's
were neatly turned and cute; so he carried a handful of them around,
one day, and read them to some of the chief citizens. But irony was
not for those people; their mental vision was not focussed for it.
They read those playful trifles in the solidest earnest, and decided
without hesitancy that if there had ever been any doubt that Dave
Wilson was a pudd'nhead -- which there had n't -- this revelation
removed that doubt for good and all. That is just the way in this
world; an enemy can partly ruin a man, but it takes a good-natured
injudicious friend to complete the thing and make it perfect. After
this the Judge felt tenderer than ever toward Wilson, and surer than
ever that his calendar had merit.

Judge Driscoll could be a free-thinker and still hold his place
in society because he was the person of most consequence in the
community, and therefore could venture to go his own way and follow
out his own notions. The other member of his pet organization was
allowed the like liberty because he was a cipher in the estimation of
the public, and nobody attached any importance to what he thought or
did. He was liked, he was welcome enough all around, but he simply
did n't count for anything.

The widow Cooper -- affectionately called "aunt Patsy" by
everybody -- lived in a snug and comely cottage with her daughter
Rowena, who was nineteen, romantic, amiable, and very pretty, but
otherwise of no consequence. Rowena had a couple of young brothers
-- also of no consequence.

The widow had a large spare room which she let to a lodger,
with board, when she could find one, but this room had been empty for
a year now, to her sorrow. Her income was only sufficient for the
family support, and she needed the lodging-money for trifling
luxuries. But now, at last, on a flaming June day, she found herself
happy; her tedious wait was ended; her year-worn advertisement had
been answered; and not by a village applicant, oh, no! -- this letter
was from away off yonder in the dim great world to the North; it was
from St. Louis. She sat on her porch gazing out with unseeing eyes
upon the shining reaches of the mighty Mississippi, her thoughts
steeped in her good fortune. Indeed it was specially good fortune,
for she was to have two lodgers instead of one.

She had read the letter to the family, and Rowena had danced
away to see to the cleaning and airing of the room by the slave woman
Nancy, and the boys had rushed abroad in the town to spread the great
news, for it was matter of public interest, and the public would
wonder and not be pleased if not informed. Presently Rowena
returned, all ablush with joyous excitement, and begged for a
re-reading of the letter. It was framed thus:

HONORED MADAM: My brother and I have seen your advertisement,
by chance, and beg leave to take the room you offer. We are
twenty-four years of age and twins. We are Italians by birth, but
have lived long in the various countries of Europe, and several years
in the United States. Our names are Luigi and Angelo Capello. You
desire but one guest; but dear Madam, if you will allow us to pay for
two, we will not incommode you. We shall be down Thursday.

"Italians! How romantic! Just think, ma -- there 's never
been one in this town, and everybody will be dying to see them, and
they 're all ! Think of that!"

"Yes, I reckon they 'll make a grand stir."

"Oh, indeed they will. The whole town will be on its head!
Think -- they 've been in Europe and everywhere! There 's never been
a traveler in this town before. Ma, I should n't wonder if they 've
seen kings!"

"Well, a body can't tell; but they 'll make stir enough,
without that."

"Yes, that 's of course. Luigi -- Angelo. They 're lovely
names; and so grand and foreign -- not like Jones and Robinson and
such. Thursday they are coming, and this is only Tuesday; it 's a
cruel long time to wait. Here comes Judge Driscoll in at the gate.
He 's heard about it. I 'll go and open the door."

The judge was full of congratulations and curiosity. The
letter was read and discussed. Soon Justice Robinson arrived with
more congratulations, and there was a new reading and a new
discussion. This was the beginning. Neighbor after neighbor, of
both sexes, followed, and the procession drifted in and out all day
and evening and all Wednesday and Thursday. The letter was read and
re-read until it was nearly worn out; everybody admired its courtly
and gracious tone, and smooth and practised style, everybody was
sympathetic and excited, and the Coopers were steeped in happiness
all the while.

The boats were very uncertain in low water, in these primitive
times. This time the Thursday boat had not arrived at ten at night
-- so the people had waited at the landing all day for nothing; they
were driven to their homes by a heavy storm without having had a view
of the illustrious foreigners.

Eleven o'clock came; and the Cooper house was the only one in
the town that still had lights burning. The rain and thunder were
booming yet, and the anxious family were still waiting, still hoping.
At last there was a knock at the door and the family jumped to open
it. Two negro men entered, each carrying a trunk, and proceeded
up-stairs toward the guest-room. Then entered the twins -- the
handsomest, the best dressed, the most distinguished-looking pair of
young fellows the West had ever seen. One was a little fairer than
the other, but otherwise they were exact duplicates.

VI

Let us endeavor so to live that when we come to die even the
undertaker will be sorry.
--

Habit is habit, and not to be flung out of the window by any
man, but coaxed down-stairs a step at a time.
--

At breakfast in the morning the twins' charm of manner and easy
and polished bearing made speedy conquest of the family's good
graces. All constraint and formality quickly disappeared, and the
friendliest feeling succeeded. Aunt Patsy called them by their
Christian names almost from the beginning. She was full of the
keenest curiosity about them, and showed it; they responded by
talking about themselves, which pleased her greatly. It presently
appeared that in their early youth they had known poverty and
hardship. As the talk wandered along the old lady watched for the
right place to drop in a question or two concerning that matter, and
when she found it she said to the blond twin, who was now doing the
biographies in his turn while the brunette one rested --

"If it ain't asking what I ought not to ask, Mr. Angelo, how
did you come to be so friendless and in such trouble when you were
little? Do you mind telling? But don't if you do."

"Oh, we don't mind it at all, madam; in our case it was merely
misfortune, and nobody's fault. Our parents were well to do, there
in Italy, and we were their only child. We were of the old
Florentine nobility" -- Rowena's heart gave a great bound, her
nostrils expanded, and a fine light played in her eyes -- "and when
the war broke out my father was on the losing side and had to fly for
his life. His estates were confiscated, his personal property
seized, and there we were, in Germany, strangers, friendless, and in
fact paupers. My brother and I were ten years old, and well educated
for that age, very studious, very fond of our books, and well
grounded in the German, French, Spanish, and English languages.
Also, we were marvelous musical prodigies -- if you will allow me to
say it, it being only the truth.

"Our father survived his misfortunes only a month, our mother
soon followed him, and we were alone in the world. Our parents could
have made themselves comfortable by exhibiting us as a show, and they
had many and large offers; but the thought revolted their pride, and
they said they would starve and die first. But what they would n't
consent to do we had to do without the formality of consent. We were
seized for the debts occasioned by their illness and their funerals,
and placed among the attractions of a cheap museum in Berlin to earn
the liquidation money. It took us two years to get out of that
slavery. We traveled all about Germany, receiving no wages, and not
even our keep. We had to be exhibited for nothing, and beg our
bread.

"Well, madam, the rest is not of much consequence. When we
escaped from that slavery at twelve years of age, we were in some
respects men. Experience had taught us some valuable things; among
others, how to take care of ourselves, how to avoid and defeat sharks
and sharpers, and how to conduct our own business for our own profit
and without other people's help. We traveled everywhere -- years and
years -- picking up smatterings of strange tongues, familiarizing
ourselves with strange sights and strange customs, accumulating an
education of a wide and varied and curious sort. It was a pleasant
life. We went to Venice -- to London, Paris, Russia, India, China,
Japan -- "

At this point Nancy the slave woman thrust her head in at the
door and exclaimed:

"Ole Missus, de house is plum' jam full o' people, en dey 's
jes a-spi'lin' to see de gen'lmen!" She indicated the twins with a
nod of her head, and tucked it back out of sight again.

It was a proud occasion for the widow, and she promised herself
high satisfaction in showing off her fine foreign birds before her
neighbors and friends -- simple folk who had hardly ever seen a
foreigner of any kind, and never one of any distinction or style.
Yet her feeling was moderate indeed when contrasted with Rowena's.
Rowena was in the clouds, she walked on air; this was to be the
greatest day, the most romantic episode, in the colorless history of
that dull country town. She was to be familiarly near the source of
its glory and feel the full flood of it pour over her and about her;
the other girls could only gaze and envy, not partake.

The widow was ready, Rowena was ready, so also were the
foreigners.

The party moved along the hall, the twins in advance, and
entered the open parlor door, whence issued a low hum of
conversation. The twins took a position near the door, the widow
stood at Luigi's side, Rowena stood beside Angelo, and the march-past
and the introductions began. The widow was all smiles and
contentment. She received the procession and passed it on to Rowena.

"Good mornin', Sister Cooper" -- hand-shake.

"Good morning, Brother Higgins -- Count Luigi Capello, Mr.
Higgins" -- hand-shake, followed by a devouring stare and "I 'm glad
to see ye," on the part of Higgins, and a courteous inclination of
the head and a pleasant "Most happy!" on the part of Count Luigi.

"Good mornin', Roweny" -- hand-shake.

"Good morning, Mr. Higgins -- present you to Count Angelo
Capello." Hand-shake, admiring stare, "Glad to see ye," -- courteous
nod, smily "Most happy!" and Higgins passes on.

None of these visitors was at ease, but, being honest people,
they did n't pretend to be. None of them had ever seen a person
bearing a title of nobility before, and none had been expecting to
see one now, consequently the title came upon them as a kind of
pile-driving surprise and caught them unprepared. A few tried to
rise to the emergency, and got out an awkward "My lord," or "Your
lordship," or something of that sort, but the great majority were
overwhelmed by the unaccustomed word and its dim and awful
associations with gilded courts and stately ceremony and anointed
kingship, so they only fumbled through the hand-shake and passed on,
speechless. Now and then, as happens at all receptions everywhere, a
more than ordinarily friendly soul blocked the procession and kept it
waiting while he inquired how the brothers liked the village, and how
long they were going to stay, and if their families were well, and
dragged in the weather, and hoped it would get cooler soon, and all
that sort of thing, so as to be able to say, when they got home, "I
had quite a long talk with them"; but nobody did or said anything of
a regrettable kind, and so the great affair went through to the end
in a creditable and satisfactory fashion.

General conversation followed, and the twins drifted about from
group to group, talking easily and fluently and winning approval,
compelling admiration and achieving favor from all. The widow
followed their conquering march with a proud eye, and every now and
then Rowena said to herself with deep satisfaction, "And to think
they are ours -- all ours!"

There were no idle moments for mother or daughter. Eager
inquiries concerning the twins were pouring into their enchanted ears
all the time; each was the constant center of a group of breathless
listeners; each recognized that she knew now for the first time the
real meaning of that great word Glory, and perceived the stupendous
value of it, and understood why men in all ages had been willing to
throw away meaner happinesses, treasure, life itself, to get a taste
of its sublime and supreme joy. Napoleon and all his kind stood
accounted for -- and justified.

When Rowena had at last done all her duty by the people in the
parlor, she went up-stairs to satisfy the longings of an
overflow-meeting there, for the parlor was not big enough to hold all
the comers. Again she was besieged by eager questioners and again
she swam in sunset seas of glory. When the forenoon was nearly gone,
she recognized with a pang that this most splendid episode of her
life was almost over, that nothing could prolong it, that nothing
quite its equal could ever fall to her fortune again. But never
mind, it was sufficient unto itself, the grand occasion had moved on
an ascending scale from the start, and was a noble and memorable
success. If the twins could but do some crowning act, now, to climax
it, something unusual, something startling, something to concentrate
upon themselves the company's loftiest admiration, something in the
nature of an electric surprise --

Here a prodigious slam-banging broke out below, and everybody
rushed down to see. It was the twins knocking out a classic
four-handed piece on the piano, in great style. Rowena was satisfied
-- satisfied down to the bottom of her heart.

The young strangers were kept long at the piano. The villagers
were astonished and enchanted with the magnificence of their
performance, and could not bear to have them stop. All the music
that they had ever heard before seemed spiritless prentice-work and
barren of grace or charm when compared with these intoxicating floods
of melodious sound. They realized that for once in their lives they
were hearing masters.

VII

One of the most striking differences between a cat and a lie is
that a cat has only nine lives.
--

The company broke up reluctantly, and drifted toward their
several homes, chatting with vivacity, and all agreeing that it would
be many a long day before Dawson's Landing would see the equal of
this one again. The twins had accepted several invitations while the
reception was in progress, and had also volunteered to play some
duets at an amateur entertainment for the benefit of a local charity.
Society was eager to receive them to its bosom. Judge Driscoll had
the good fortune to secure them for an immediate drive, and to be the
first to display them in public. They entered his buggy with him,
and were paraded down the main street, everybody flocking to the
windows and sidewalks to see.

The Judge showed the strangers the new graveyard, and the jail,
and where the richest man lived, and the Freemasons' hall, and the
Methodist church, and the Presbyterian church, and where the Baptist
church was going to be when they got some money to build it with, and
showed them the town hall and the slaughter-house, and got out the
independent fire company in uniform and had them put out an imaginary
fire; then he let them inspect the muskets of the militia company,
and poured out an exhaustless stream of enthusiasm over all these
splendors, and seemed very well satisfied with the responses he got,
for the twins admired his admiration, and paid him back the best they
could, though they could have done better if some fifteen or sixteen
hundred thousand previous experiences of this sort in various
countries had not already rubbed off a considerable part of the
novelty of it.

The Judge laid himself out hospitably to make them have a good
time, and if there was a defect anywhere it was not his fault. He
told them a good many humorous anecdotes, and always forgot the nub,
but they were always able to furnish it, for these yarns were of a
pretty early vintage, and they had had many a rejuvenating pull at
them before. And he told them all about his several dignities, and
how he had held this and that and the other place of honor or profit,
and had once been to the legislature, and was now president of the
Society of Free-thinkers. He said the society had been in existence
four years, and already had two members, and was firmly established.
He would call for the brothers in the evening if they would like to
attend a meeting of it.

Accordingly he called for them, and on the way he told them all
about Pudd'nhead Wilson, in order that they might get a favorable
impression of him in advance and be prepared to like him. This
scheme succeeded -- the favorable impression was achieved. Later it
was confirmed and solidified when Wilson proposed that out of
courtesy to the strangers the usual topics be put aside and the hour
be devoted to conversation upon ordinary subjects and the cultivation
of friendly relations and good-fellowship, -- a proposition which was
put to vote and carried.

The hour passed quickly away in lively talk, and when it was
ended the lonesome and neglected Wilson was richer by two friends
than he had been when it began. He invited the twins to look in at
his lodgings, presently, after disposing of an intervening
engagement, and they accepted with pleasure.

Toward the middle of the evening they found themselves on the
road to his house. Pudd'nhead was at home waiting for them and
putting in his time puzzling over a thing which had come under his
notice that morning. The matter was this: He happened to be up very
early -- at dawn, in fact, and he crossed the hall which divided his
cottage through the center, and entered a room to get something
there. The window of the room had no curtains, for that side of the
house had long been unoccupied, and through this window he caught
sight of something which surprised and interested him. It was a
young woman -- a young woman where properly no young woman belonged;
for she was in Judge Driscoll's house, and in the bedroom over the
Judge's private study or sitting-room. This was young Tom Driscoll's
bedroom. He and the Judge, the Judge's widowed sister Mrs. Pratt and
three negro servants were the only people who belonged in the house.
Who, then, might this young lady be? The two houses were separated
by an ordinary yard, with a low fence running back through its middle
from the street in front to the lane in the rear. The distance was
not great, and Wilson was able to see the girl very well, the
window-shades of the room she was in being up and the window also.
The girl had on a neat and trim summer dress, patterned in broad
stripes of pink and white, and her bonnet was equipped with a pink
veil. She was practising steps, gaits and attitudes, apparently; she
was doing the thing gracefully, and was very much absorbed in her
work. Who could she be, and how came she to be in young Tom
Driscoll's room?

Wilson had quickly chosen a position from which he could watch
the girl without running much risk of being seen by her, and he
remained there hoping she would raise her veil and betray her face.
But she disappointed him. After a matter of twenty minutes she
disappeared, and although he stayed at his post half an hour longer,
she came no more.

Toward noon he dropped in at the Judge's and talked with Mrs.
Pratt about the great event of the day, the levee of the
distinguished foreigners at Aunt Patsy Cooper's. He asked after her
nephew Tom, and she said he was on his way home, and that she was
expecting him to arrive a little before night; and added that she and
the Judge were gratified to gather from his letters that he was
conducting himself very nicely and creditably -- at which Wilson
winked to himself privately. Wilson did not ask if there was a
newcomer in the house, but he asked questions that would have brought
light-throwing answers as to that matter if Mrs. Pratt had had any
light to throw; so he went away satisfied that he knew of things that
were going on in her house of which she herself was not aware.

He was now waiting for the twins, and still puzzling over the
problem of who that girl might be, and how she happened to be in that
young fellow's room at daybreak in the morning.

VIII

The holy passion of Friendship is of so sweet and steady and
loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole
lifetime, if not asked to lend money.
--

Consider well the proportions of things. It is better to be a
young June-bug than an old bird of paradise.
--

It is necessary now, to hunt up Roxy.

At the time she was set free and went away chambermaiding, she
was thirty-five. She got a berth as second chambermaid on a
Cincinnati boat in the New Orleans trade, the . A
couple of trips made her wonted and easy-going at the work, and
infatuated her with the stir and adventure and independence of
steamboat life. Then she was promoted and became head chambermaid.
She was a favorite with the officers, and exceedingly proud of their
joking and friendly ways with her.

During eight years she served three parts of the year on that
boat, and the winters on a Vicksburg packet. But now for two months
she had had rheumatism in her arms, and was obliged to let the
wash-tub alone. So she resigned. But she was well fixed -- rich, as
she would have described it; for she had lived a steady life, and had
banked four dollars every month in New Orleans as a provision for her
old age. She said in the start that she had "put shoes on one
bar'footed nigger to tromple on her with," and that one mistake like
that was enough; she would be independent of the human race
thenceforth forevermore if hard work and economy could accomplish it.
When the boat touched the levee at New Orleans she bade good-by to
her comrades on the and moved her kit ashore.

But she was back in an hour. The bank had gone to smash and
carried her four hundred dollars with it. She was a pauper, and
homeless. Also disabled bodily, at least for the present. The
officers were full of sympathy for her in her trouble, and made up a
little purse for her. She resolved to go to her birthplace; she had
friends there among the negroes, and the unfortunate always help the
unfortunate, she was well aware of that; those lowly comrades of her
youth would not let her starve.

She took the little local packet at Cairo, and now she was on
the home-stretch. Time had worn away her bitterness against her son,
and she was able to think of him with serenity. She put the vile
side of him out of her mind, and dwelt only on recollections of his
occasional acts of kindness to her. She gilded and otherwise
decorated these, and made them very pleasant to contemplate. She
began to long to see him. She would go and fawn upon him, slave-like
-- for this would have to be her attitude, of course -- and maybe she
would find that time had modified him, and that he would be glad to
see his long-forgotten old nurse and treat her gently. That would be
lovely; that would make her forget her woes and her poverty.

Her poverty! That thought inspired her to add another castle
to her dream: maybe he would give her a trifle now and then -- maybe
a dollar, once a month, say; any little thing like that would help,
oh, ever so much.

By the time she reached Dawson's Landing she was her old self
again; her blues were gone, she was in high feather. She would get
along, surely; there were many kitchens where the servants would
share their meals with her, and also steal sugar and apples and other
dainties for her to carry home -- or give her a chance to pilfer them
herself, which would answer just as well. And there was the church.
She was a more rabid and devoted Methodist than ever, and her piety
was no sham, but was strong and sincere. Yes, with plenty of
creature comforts and her old place in the amen-corner in her
possession again, she would be perfectly happy and at peace
thenceforward to the end.

She went to Judge Driscoll's kitchen first of all. She was
received there in great form and with vast enthusiasm. Her wonderful
travels, and the strange countries she had seen and the adventures
she had had, made her a marvel, and a heroine of romance. The
negroes hung enchanted upon the great story of her experiences,
interrupting her all along with eager questions, with laughter,
exclamations of delight and expressions of applause; and she was
obliged to confess to herself that if there was anything better in
this world than steamboating, it was the glory to be got by telling
about it. The audience loaded her stomach with their dinners and
then stole the pantry bare to load up her basket.

Tom was in St. Louis. The servants said he had spent the best
part of his time there during the previous two years. Roxy came
every day, and had many talks about the family and its affairs. Once
she asked why Tom was away so much. The ostensible "Chambers" said:

"De fac' is, ole marster kin git along better when young
marster 's away den he kin when he 's in de town; yes, en he love him
better, too; so he gives him fifty dollahs a month -- "

"No, is dat so? Chambers, you 's a-jokin', ain't you?"

"'Clah to goodness I ain't, mammy; Marse Tom tole me so his own
self. But nemmine, 't ain't enough."

"My lan', what de reason 't ain't enough?"

"Well, I 's gwine to tell you, if you gimme a chanst, mammy.
De reason it ain't enough is 'ca'se Marse Tom gambles."

Roxy threw up her hands in astonishment and Chambers went on --

"Ole marster found it out, 'ca'se he had to pay two hunderd
dollahs for Marse Tom's gamblin' debts, en dat 's true, mammy, jes as
dead certain as you 's bawn."

"Two -- hund'd -- dollahs! Why, what is you talkin' 'bout?
Two -- hund'd -- dollahs. Sakes alive, it 's 'mos' enough to buy a
tol'able good second-hand nigger wid. En you ain't lyin', honey? --
you would n't lie to yo' ole mammy?"

"It 's God's own truth, jes as I tell you -- two hund'd dollahs
-- I wisht I may never stir outen my tracks if it ain't so. En, oh,
my lan', ole Marse was jes a-hoppin'! he was b'ilin' mad, I tell you!
He tuck 'n' dissenhurrit him."

He licked his chops with relish after that stately word. Roxy
struggled with it a moment, then gave it up and said --

"Dissen him?"

"Dissenhurrit him."

"What 's dat? What do it mean?"

"Means he bu'sted de will."

"Bu's -- ted de will! He would n't treat him so! Take
it back, you mis'able imitation nigger dat I bore in sorrow en
tribbilation."

Roxy's pet castle -- an occasional dollar from Tom's pocket --
was tumbling to ruin before her eyes. She could not abide such a
disaster as that; she could n't endure the thought of it. Her remark
amused Chambers:

"Yah-yah-yah! jes listen to dat! If I 's imitation, what is
you? Bofe of us is imitation -- dat 's what we is -- en
pow'ful good imitation, too -- yah-yah-yah! -- we don't 'mount to
noth'n' as imitation ; en as for -- "

"Shet up yo' foolin', 'fo' I knock you side de head, en tell me
'bout de will. Tell me 't ain't bu'sted -- do, honey, en I 'll never
forgit you."

"Well, <'tain't> -- 'ca'se dey 's a new one made, en Marse Tom
's all right ag'in. But what is you in sich a sweat 'bout it for,
mammy? 'T ain't none o' your business I don't reckon."

"'T ain't none o' my business? Whose business is it den, I 'd
like to know? Wuz I his mother tell he was fifteen years old, or wus
n't I? -- you answer me dat. En you speck I could see him turned out
po' en ornery on de worl' en never care noth'n' 'bout it? I reckon
if you 'd ever be'n a mother yo'self, Valet de Chambers, you would
n't talk sich foolishness as dat."

"Well, den, ole Marse forgive him en fixed up de will ag'in --
do dat satisfy you?"

Yes, she was satisfied now, and quite happy and sentimental
over it. She kept coming daily, and at last she was told that Tom
had come home. She began to tremble with emotion, and straightway
sent to beg him to let his "po' ole nigger mammy have jes one sight
of him en die for joy."

Tom was stretched at his lazy ease on a sofa when Chambers
brought the petition. Time had not modified his ancient detestation
of the humble drudge and protector of his boyhood; it was still
bitter and uncompromising. He sat up and bent a severe gaze upon the
fair face of the young fellow whose name he was unconsciously using
and whose family rights he was enjoying. He maintained the gaze
until the victim of it had become satisfactorily pallid with terror,
then he said --

"What does the old rip want with me?"

The petition was meekly repeated.

"Who gave you permission to come and disturb me with the social
attentions of niggers?"

Tom had risen. The other young man was trembling now, visibly.
He saw what was coming, and bent his head sideways, and put up his
left arm to shield it. Tom rained cuffs upon the head and its
shield, saying no word; the victim received each blow with a
beseeching "Please, Marse Tom! -- oh, please, Marse Tom!" Seven blows
-- then Tom said, "Face the door -- march!" He followed behind with
one, two, three solid kicks. The last one helped the pure-white
slave over the door-sill, and he limped away mopping his eyes with
his old ragged sleeve. Tom shouted after him, "Send her in!"

Then he flung himself panting on the sofa again, and rasped out
the remark, "He arrived just at the right moment; I was full to the
brim with bitter thinkings, and nobody to take it out of. How
refreshing it was! I feel better."

Tom's mother entered now, closing the door behind her, and
approached her son with all the wheedling and supplicating
servilities that fear and interest can impart to the words and
attitudes of the born slave. She stopped a yard from her boy and
made two or three admiring exclamations over his manly stature and
general handsomeness, and Tom put an arm under his head and hoisted a
leg over the sofa-back in order to look properly indifferent.

"My lan', how you is growed, honey! 'Clah to goodness, I would
n't a-knowed you, Marse Tom! 'deed I would n't! Look at me good;
does you 'member old Roxy? -- does you know yo' old nigger mammy,
honey? Well now, I kin lay down en die in peace, 'ca'se I 's seed --
"

"Cut it short,

"You heah dat? Jes de same old Marse Tom, al'ays so gay and
funnin' wid de ole mammy. I 'uz jes as shore -- "

"Cut it short, I tell you, and get along! What do you want?"

This was a bitter disappointment. Roxy had for so many days
nourished and fondled and petted her notion that Tom would be glad to
see his old nurse, and would make her proud and happy to the marrow
with a cordial word or two, that it took two rebuffs to convince her
that he was not funning, and that her beautiful dream was a fond and
foolish vanity, a shabby and pitiful mistake. She was hurt to the
heart, and so ashamed that for a moment she did not quite know what
to do or how to act. Then her breast began to heave, the tears came,
and in her forlornness she was moved to try that other dream of hers
-- an appeal to her boy's charity; and so, upon the impulse, and
without reflection, she offered her supplication:

"Oh, Marse Tom, de po' ole mammy is in sich hard luck dese
days; en she 's kinder crippled in de arms en can't work, en if you
could gimme a dollah -- on'y jes one little dol -- "

Tom was on his feet so suddenly that the supplicant was
startled into a jump herself.

"A dollar! -- give you a dollar! I've a notion to strangle
you! Is your errand here? Clear out! and be quick about it!"

Roxy backed slowly toward the door. When she was half-way she
stopped, and said mournfully:

"Marse Tom, I nussed you when you was a little baby, en I
raised you all by myself tell you was 'most a young man; en now you
is young en rich, en I is po' en gitt'n' ole, en I come heah
b'lievin' dat you would he'p de ole mammy 'long down de little road
dat 's lef' 'twix' her en de grave, en -- "

Tom relished this tune less than any that had preceded it, for
it began to wake up a sort of echo in his conscience; so he
interrupted and said with decision, though without asperity, that he
was not in a situation to help her, and was n't going to do it.

"Ain't you ever gwine to he'p me, Marse Tom?"

"No! Now go away and don't bother me any more."

Roxy's head was down, in an attitude of humility. But now the
fires of her old wrongs flamed up in her breast and began to burn
fiercely. She raised her head slowly, till it was well up, and at
the same time her great frame unconsciously assumed an erect and
masterful attitude, with all the majesty and grace of her vanished
youth in it. She raised her finger and punctuated with it:

"You has said de word. You has had yo' chance, en you has
trompled it under yo' foot. When you git another one, you 'll git
down on yo' knees en for it!"

A cold chill went to Tom's heart, he did n't know why; for he
did not reflect that such words, from such an incongruous source, and
so solemnly delivered, could not easily fail of that effect.
However, he did the natural thing: he replied with bluster and
mockery:

" give me a chance -- Perhaps I 'd better get
down on my knees now! But in case I don't -- just for argument's
sake -- what 's going to happen, pray?"

"Dis is what is gwine to happen. I 's gwine as straight to yo'
uncle as I kin walk, en tell him every las' thing I knows 'bout you."

Tom's cheek blenched, and she saw it. Disturbing thoughts
began to chase each other through his head. "How can she know? And
yet she must have found out -- she looks it. I 've had the will back
only three months, and am already deep in debt again, and moving
heaven and earth to save myself from exposure and destruction, with a
reasonably fair show of getting the thing covered up if I 'm let
alone, and now this fiend has gone and found me out somehow or other.
I wonder how much she knows? Oh, oh, oh, it 's enough to break a
body's heart! But I 've got to humor her -- there 's no other way."

Then he worked up a rather sickly sample of a gay laugh and a
hollow chipperness of manner, and said:

"Well, well, Roxy dear, old friends like you and me must n't
quarrel. Here 's your dollar -- now tell me what you know."

He held out the wild-cat bill; she stood as she was, and made
no movement. It was her turn to scorn persuasive foolery, now, and
she did not waste it. She said, with a grim implacability in voice
and manner which made Tom almost realize that even a former slave can
remember for ten minutes insults and injuries returned for
compliments and flatteries received, and can also enjoy taking
revenge for them when the opportunity offers:

"What does I know? I 'll tell you what I knows. I knows
enough to bu'st dat will to flinders -- en more, mind you, "

Tom was aghast.

"More?" he said. "What do you call more? Where 's there any
room for more?"

Roxy laughed a mocking laugh, and said scoffingly, with a toss
of her head, and her hands on her hips --

"Yes! -- oh, I reckon! you 'd like to know -- wid yo'
po' little ole rag dollah. What you reckon I 's gwine to tell
for? -- you ain't got no money. I 's gwine to tell yo' uncle -- en I
'll do it dis minute, too -- he 'll gimme dollahs for de news,
en mighty glad, too."

She swung herself around disdainfully, and started away. Tom
was in a panic. He seized her skirts, and implored her to wait. She
turned and said, loftily --

"Look-a-heah, what 'uz it I tole you?"

"You -- you -- I don't remember anything. What was it you told
me?"

"I tole you dat de next time I give you a chance you 'd git
down on yo' knees en beg for it."

Tom was stupefied for a moment. He was panting with
excitement. Then he said:

"Oh, Roxy, you would n't require your young master to do such a
horrible thing. You can't mean it."

"I 'll let you know mighty quick whether I means it or not!
You call me names, en as good as spit on me when I comes here po' en
ornery en 'umble, to praise you for bein' growed up so fine en
handsome, en tell you how I used to nuss you en tend you en watch you
when you 'uz sick en had n't no mother but me in de whole worl', en
beg you to give de po' ole nigger a dollah for to git her sum'n' to
eat, en you call me names -- , dad blame you! Yassir, I gives
you jes one chance mo', and dat's , en it las' on'y a half a
second -- you hear?"

Tom slumped to his knees and began to beg, saying --

"You see I 'm begging, and it 's honest begging, too! Now tell
me, Roxy, tell me."

The heir of two centuries of unatoned insult and outrage looked
down on him and seemed to drink in deep draughts of satisfaction.
Then she said --

"Fine nice young white gen'l'man kneelin' down to a
nigger-wench! I 's wanted to see dat jes once befo' I 's called.
Now, Gabr'el, blow de hawn, I 's ready ... Git up!"

Tom did it. He said, humbly --

"Now, Roxy, don't punish me any more. I deserved what I 've
got, but be good and let me off with that. Don't go to uncle. Tell
me -- I 'll give you the five dollars."

"Yes, I bet you will; en you won't stop dah, nuther. But I
ain't gwine to tell you heah -- "

"Good gracious, no!"

"Is you 'feared o' de ha'nted house?"

"N-no."

"Well, den, you come to de ha'nted house 'bout ten or 'leven
to-night, en climb up de ladder, 'ca'se de sta'r-steps is broke down,
en you 'll fine me. I 's a-roostin' in de ha'nted house 'ca'se I
can't 'ford to roos' nowher's else." She started toward the door, but
stopped and said, "Gimme de dollah bill!" He gave it to her. She
examined it and said, "H'm -- like enough de bank 's bu'sted." She
started again, but halted again. "Has you got any whisky?"

"Yes, a little."

"Fetch it!"

He ran to his room overhead and brought down a bottle which was
two thirds full. She tilted it up and took a drink. Her eyes
sparkled with satisfaction, and she tucked the bottle under her
shawl, saying, "It 's prime. I 'll take it along."

Tom humbly held the door for her, and she marched out as grim
and erect as a grenadier.

IX

Why is it that we rejoice at a birth and grieve at a funeral? It is
because we are not the person involved.
--

It is easy to find fault, if one has that disposition. There was
once a man who, not being able to find any other fault with his coal,
complained that there were too many prehistoric toads in it.
--

Tom flung himself on the sofa, and put his throbbing head in
his hands, and rested his elbows on his knees. He rocked himself
back and forth and moaned.

"I 've knelt to a nigger-wench!" he muttered. "I thought I had
struck the deepest depths of degradation before, but oh, dear, it was
nothing to this. ... Well, there is one consolation, such as it is --
I 've struck bottom this time; there 's nothing lower."

But that was a hasty conclusion.

At ten that night he climbed the ladder in the haunted house,
pale, weak, and wretched. Roxy was standing in the door of one of
the rooms, waiting, for she had heard him.

This was a two-story log house which had acquired the
reputation a few years before of being haunted, and that was the end
of its usefulness. Nobody would live in it afterward, or go near it
by night, and most people even gave it a wide berth in the daytime.
As it had no competition, it was called haunted house. It was
getting crazy and ruinous, now, from long neglect. It stood three
hundred yards beyond Pudd'nhead Wilson's house, with nothing between
but vacancy. It was the last house in the town at that end.

Tom followed Roxy into the room. She had a pile of clean straw
in the corner for a bed, some cheap but well-kept clothing was
hanging on the wall, there was a tin lantern freckling the floor with
little spots of light, and there were various soap- and candle-boxes
scattered about, which served for chairs. The two sat down. Roxy
said --

"Now den, I 'll tell you straight off, en I 'll begin to k'leck
de money later on; I ain't in no hurry. What does you reckon I 's
gwine to tell you?"

"Well, you -- you -- oh, Roxy, don't make it too hard for me!
Come right out and tell me you 've found out somehow what a shape I
'm in on account of dissipation and foolishness."

"Disposition en foolishness! sir, dat ain't it. Dat jist
ain't nothin' at all, 'longside o' what knows."