386 



FOREST AND STREAM. 



[April SO, 1898. 



" LIGE." 



I. 



I LIKE to think of Lige as I first knew him; the child of 

 nature; the soft, tender-hearted man; the genial, easy- 

 going, don't-care fellow; the interesting and entertaining 

 friend. Not a care or thought for the morrow disturbed 

 the serene monotony of his life; he lived alone in an old 

 farmhouse, where he cooked, ate and slept, unharassed 

 and tmtrammeled. Not a relative in the world that he 

 knew of, everybody was his friend and he was the friend 

 of every one. Kind, gentle and lovable; though the outer 

 shell was rough and unkempt, the heart was ever kind 

 and sympathetic. When I came to know him thoroughly 

 I loved him. Eest here in this heart, old friend; I embalm 

 you in my memory as you once were. 



I first met Lige on a day like this on Avhich I am writ- 

 ing; perhaps this brought him to my mind; I don't know; 

 it makes no difference with the story. It was a soft, 

 warm day in the opening of sjjring, gentle showers were 

 falling, cooling the air and coaxing the buds to open and 

 grass to grow. It was a good day for fishing, I was tired; 

 oh so tired of business. Who has not had tiie mad impulse 

 come over him to rush awaj^ from the wearing round to 

 the woods and meadows, there in the quiet of natui-e to 

 expand and grow backward to the boyish joys again? If 

 there is one who has had no such impulses, who cares not 

 to haunt the fields and woods for even a brief holiday, I 

 pity, though I cannot imderstand him. 



I had fished aU day. Never before had the old Nepash 

 80 rewarded me for my efforts; I had fish enough to 

 satisfy the most gx-asping, and I threw myself down to 

 drink in the quiet and beauty of the scene about me. So 

 absorbed was I in the loveliness that I was not aware of 

 another's presence untU. I was greeted with, ' 'What luck, 

 stranger ?" 



I looked up and met the gaze of a pair of quiet gray 

 eyes that sparkled under huge shaggy brows, large 

 features, grayish brown beard and hair that sprawled at 

 will 'neath the broad-rimmed soft hat that bore the marks 

 and dents of many tuesels with its owner. 



We gTew communicative; I told him of my business 

 and enumerated for his edification the tons of coal, iron 

 and steel, as well as ponderous grindstones we used in 

 the manuf actm-e of edge tools and plows, as well as other 

 facts and figures of magnitude calculated to convey awe 

 and wonder to the unfilled mind of an economist in 

 thought timber, all of which he received with proper 

 ejaculations of astonishment and negative shakings of 

 his head in confirmation of the sui-prise conveyed in his 

 tones. And then he told me of his life alone "Back here 

 a mile or so," of the charcoal he burned and the hoop- 

 poles he cut; as he expressed it, "Charcoaled it spring 

 and summer, and hoop-poled it fall and winter." Nor 

 did he neglect the trouting and game interests. He told 

 of muskrata he trapped, and he often got minks and 

 sometimes — though rarely — an otter; foxes and coons 

 were "middling plenty." He waxed warm when he 

 talked of fall hunting and I felt all the glow of a sports- 

 man as I listened to his inspiring talk. We met here on 

 equal footing and lingered lovingly over the topic until 

 the day grew gray as the sun went over the hills, and 

 when the shadows in the valley had lengthened and 

 become absorbed by the gloom of evening we parted with 

 a warm clasp of hands and an expressed desire on his 

 part for a visit from me a week later, to spend the night 

 at his house and have a day of sport from tlie very source 

 of the old Nepash, miles aibove the spot where I usually 

 struck in. The frogs sang to me as I bowled my way- 

 home, and though tired with my trip yet the feeling was 

 a good one and I laid me down and slept with peace in 

 my heart toward the world at large and Lige in par- 

 ticular. 



A week later Ben and I planned a trip to the country 

 where lived this new friend. Ben is my particular crony; 

 just the one to go away with on a hunting and fishing 

 trip; funny fellow he is, too, in more ways than one; 

 though a great lover of fishing and a good fisherman, he 

 cares nothing for hunting. I don't beheve he ever fii-ed a 

 gun, but he would go with me to carry the game bag and 

 provisions and to keep up my spirits if they ilagged a mo- 

 ment, and so I considered Ben as my right-hand man; a 

 dear good fellow, a humorist and everything enjoyable 

 when I had a day off and wanted a companion , and" thus 

 it fell that I wished Ben to share the joys of this trip with 

 me. I felt that Lige could not object to the unannounced 

 presence of Ben; with a woman this unceremonious 

 breach of etiquette would never do, but there was no 

 woman at Lige's house; he was a bachelor. 



I shall never forget that visit. Lige came down the 

 road a mile to meet us, greeted us with all the exuberance 

 of spu-its a boy might have shown, and was delighted that 

 1 had brought Ben . Poor Lige — ^but we reserve the telling 

 of your sad fate for the next chapter. Let the sunshine 

 of your life come first, while we hope that the clouds may 

 break away and not overshadow your life forever. 



Up towai'd Lige's house we rode, light at heart and 

 frolicsome as boys let loose from school. Never did I feel 

 more at rest or happier. All was quiet and harmony, 

 with the birds triUing their evening songs and the gentle 

 lowing of cows softened by distance. A feeling of peace 

 and true joy took possession of lis. 



We soon arrived at the old farmhouse. What a picture 

 it was to me. I failed to take it all in then, but I dream 

 over it now, and with eyes shut tight I see every angle 

 and comer and every broken clapboard. 



We followed Lige to the large barn where our horse 

 was, stabled with a bed of bright rye straw, and we left 

 him contented and happy over his supper of oats. A 

 large, old-fashioned, roomy porch, made by the roof pro- 

 jection at the back, invited us to a rest on its floor, where, 

 with feet hanging ofl:', we sat and talked and smoked the 

 evening away. About 9 o'clock a whippoorwill flitted low 

 across the meadow that lay wrapped in slumberous 

 shadows and light glimmering unaer the new moon. 

 Low and sad came the notes "whippoorwill, whippoor- 

 will," and without prearrangement om- talking ceased 

 and we listened. "Mighty lonesome that sounds " said 

 Lige at last, "but not so lonesome as when I sit here 

 alone." I agreed witli him that it must be lonesome 

 sometimes, at which remark he seemed to take some ex- 



ception, for he said quickly: "Mighty good, though, 

 after all, to be lonesome sometimes," and I agreed with 

 him again, for I had often seen the time when I preferred 

 to be alone and lonesome when I couldn't somehow man- 

 age to bring such a state of affairs about. When we were 

 ready for bed Lige gave us a real old-fashioned tallow dip 

 and brass candlestick. I nodded my satisfaction to Ben. 

 "Lodgers will please not blow out the 'gas," I said, and 

 Lige, evidently not imderstanding my levity, half apolo- 

 gized for not doing better by us and said he'd "never got 

 the hang of karryseen." "Good night, good night, friend 

 Lige; sleep tight." 



Lige called very timidly the next morning as though 

 fearful of waking us, I awoke with a start. Had I slept 

 over and would I be late at the office? "Oh, no;" I re- 

 membered, "it's our day off;" and I heard the tall old 

 clock in the hall peal the strokes on its huge brass bell; 

 and outside the birds were siuging. A Toice from below 

 rouses me from my reverie. Ben has left me and 

 descended. Lige calls me to prepare for breakfast. As I 

 go do%vn the old-fashioned staircase with its quaint square 

 bedpost balusters and rails, I note the fragi-ance of Hlacs 

 through the open door, and catch a glunpse of a paradise 

 of green, sparkling dewdrops, dandehons, adder's t^)ngues, 

 grasses, and an old well sweep ^vith Ben sousing his face 

 and head in cold water he has just poured from "the old 

 oaken bucket." Yes, here they were — the moss-covered 

 bucket and well-sweep. 



■•We went in with Lige, who had waited for us on the 

 old porch, a scent of cofl'ee and browned cakes greeting us 

 and whetting anew our already sharpened appetites. The 

 trout were well cooked in cracker crumb batter, and we 

 ate in comfort. Somehow the scent of that breakfast, the 

 yellow of the ochered floor, the dark smoky ceiling, the 

 fresh breeze through the open door, the perfume of lilacs, 

 the "peace-with-all-mankind" look on Ben's features come 

 to me now in a fantastic whirl and I fail to detach them 

 one from another, they go together in my memory when 

 1 think over the joys of that May morning. 



We were ready for fishing at last and struck out across 

 lots for the head waters of the Nepash fully three miles 

 away. The joys and fuU sense of wild free life that we 

 experienced that day I have not time nor space to relate 

 in detail. One such day braces the hand, eye and heart 

 of a man for weeks to come. We made a halt at noonday 

 by the side of a clear bubbling spring beneath the partly 

 uncovered root of a large ekn. Lige pulled from the bag 

 strung on his shoulder a can, a wire toaster, tin plates, 

 knives and forks, a box containing salt, butter and pepper, 

 a loaf of bread, and then a chunk of salt pork came from 

 the magician's inexhaustible bag. By the time the coffee 

 boiled he was ready to broil his fish, which he did to a 

 turn. Then having eaten, we lay down on the grass, with 

 hands behind om' heads watching Lige smoke his pipe and 

 listening to his talk, well satisfied to listen; it was too 

 much exertion for us to do more. 



Down we went all the afternoon, alternately lapping by 

 each other on the stream, Lige with his home cut pole, 

 and hook baited with a worm doing great execution, 

 though Ben and I were not far behind. The day drew 

 slowly to a close without a cloud to disturb the harmony 

 of our outing. Leg- weary we readied the homestead and 

 partook of Lige's evening meal of cold boiled beef and 

 cabbage. Then we started for home, well satisfied, well 

 paid and in good spirits, with pleasant memories and 

 trout. 



Many such days came to us in the years following, and 

 cool, frosty mornings in the fall found us tramping the 

 hills and woods with our dogs and gmis, "after anything," 

 as Lige expressed it, "as wore hair or feathers," and the 

 evenings found us before his open fireplace, where we 

 smoked and talked the night away. 



And aU these things must end. I often felt the premo- 

 nitions that denoted a coming change, and wondered just 

 how it would be brought about. Poor Lige! We fought 

 om- great loss in your sad affliction. But I need not an- 

 ticipate. Let the facts come in their routine. There had 

 been little hunting for me one fall, and Ben, having no 

 great propensities in the shooting line, had remamed at 

 home, and so it happened that for six months we had not 

 seen nor heard from Lige except once when he came to 

 town with eggs in the winter. I saw him there from the 

 office window, and hastily throwing up the sash called, 

 inviting him in. He shook his head, pointed significantly 

 up street and walked away. I looked in vain for some- 

 thing that might give me a clew to his strange conduct, 

 but there was nothing in sight except a tail, slim woman 

 dressed in black. I was puzzled and Lige's behavior 

 bothered me. 



Spring had come and tlie trout brooks I knew were 

 singing songs of welcome release from icy bondage. I 

 felt that I must get away for a day; but there seemed no 

 opportunity whatever, and day after day came and sped 

 again, and still I seemed no nearer realizing mj desires 

 for an outing. 



II. 



The mails came in with unflagging regularity and found 

 me up to my eyes in work. VV as this state of things to 

 last forever? Out on the hills I could see from my desk 

 that the ti-ees were growing greener and leafier every day 

 and the far meadows spoke of grasses that were spring- 

 ing into new life and color hour by hour. I knew that 

 brooks were flashing in the spring sunshine, and that 

 trout were waiting to be caught. Would they wait much 

 longer for me? I was afraid not. I sent the boy for Ben 

 that I might discuss with him the situation. He came, 

 but pleaded business as an excuse for not going. I 

 graphically desci-ibed in glowing colors the joys he knew 

 so well without the telling. For a time he was really ob- 

 stinate, shook his head, could not go— would not. But 

 just as I was about to give up he said, "Where'll we go?" 

 In the sweet joy of the winning I let him talk and list- 

 ened to the programme he deftly tmfolded. He knew 

 just the place. It was Lige's of course. We would drive 

 over that very night, sleep at the farmhouse, and be 

 ready as of old for business in the morning. Then we 

 talked of the days we had spent with Lige, and the even- 

 ings in his house, smoking our pipes before the large old- 

 fashioned fireplace amid flickering flashes and shadows, 

 and talk, with home-brewed cider and apples and hickory 

 nuts. I remember that I grew intensely nervous after 

 the arrangement was made. Every moment unexpected 

 hindrances occurred to put back my work; but never for 

 one moment did I give up the idea of going. I should go 

 it" it took a leg. 



We were off at last. For a wonder we were out of 

 town without a liitch. We said but little for the first five 

 miles. May had laid her beauties all around us; the cold 

 blasts of April had gone and soft breezes fanned our faces. 

 How quiet everything was. The jar of heavy machinery 

 and rattling of trip-hammers had graduclly drifted from 

 our hearing, and the monotonous and wearing gratings of 

 the big wheels had gone and left in their places a restful 

 calm which only those who have exchanged the one for 

 the other can understand or appreciate. 



At last we reached the farm of our old friend. I was 

 restless. I knew not what I was dreading; but something 

 whispered of a change — a disappointment. A board 

 notice on the brook bank in sprawling, uncouth letters 

 stared me in the face: 



NO FISHiNG AJowea HeBE. 



I looked at Ben. "Not like Lige," I said. But Ben ex- 

 plained away my fears, and beheved that Lige was saving 

 the fish for us. And so, trusting and hoping, but in grave 

 doubt nevertheless, we went on, and did a prodigious 

 amount of thinking. We were rapidly neariag the house. 

 No signs of Lige had dawned on our horizon. To all 

 appearance the farm was deserted. But then Lige might 

 be away. Of course he couldn't be expected to stand 

 around watching for our coming when he had received 

 no intimation of our visit. And so we chirked up a bit as 

 we discussed the pros and cons. I was thoroughly startled, 

 however, when Ben grasped my arm, pinching it severely, 

 and, pointing at something with the other hand, told me 

 to stop the horse. Wondering, I did so. I could see 

 nothing to warrant his fixed gaze; but at his earnest cry, 

 "See this!" I looked again in the direction indicated, but 

 as before, nothing rewarded my eager gaze. "The flow- 

 ers," he said. Then I noted a bed of pansies under the 

 front window. Ah! I began to understand his agitation — 

 there must be a woman on the premises. We looked 

 blankly at each other. Our castles had already taken a 

 tumble. Our bachelor friend must be sick or — or dead 

 perhaps — or had a housekeeper. In any event om- hopes 

 were blasted. Where would be the enj oy able evening Ben 

 and I had dej)icted and looked forward to? 



We heard the soft and even cut of a saw back of the 

 house as we drove into the yard. A Uttle further and one 

 of our fears was set at rest. Lige was not dead. He was 

 sawing wood. The saw flew monotonously back and 

 forth, and only a nod from the sawyer denoted that our 

 presence was known. We slowly descended from the 

 wagon and attempted to be jovial, but Lige confined his 

 advances to a cold "How-r-ye?" and kept steadily on with 

 his work. To Ben's inquiiy whether we could stay aU 

 night, he pointed to the house, "Ask her;" and then went 

 on again with the saw pushing, without a word of greet- 

 ing or cheer. 



Such a welcome was paralyzing. We had looked for- 

 ward to glad . urprise and joy on Lige's part, and warm i 

 hospitality as of yore. But we hitched our horse and ( 

 walked toward the house. We dreaded the task before us \ 

 but must see it through. The door was opened and a tall, | 

 angular female of a decidedly vinegary aspect told us \ 

 coldly to "come in." We soon learned that she was mar- 

 ried to the man sawing wood. ' "He was a shiftless f eflow, 

 but she meant to make hmi over; he was sawing his stent 

 now; he wouldn't get through before y o'clock, neither, ^ 

 and then he had two cows to milk; time was money, and 

 it had got to be if they ever got anything out of the place, 

 and at their time of life. Yes, we could stay to-niglit and 

 to-morrow for a dollar each; she couldn't afford to wait 

 on nobody for nothin' and wasn't goin' to; the nimble six- ' 

 pence was worth more to her than the slow coming prom- 

 ised doUar, and she meant to "git" it every time. Yes, Lige 

 could go fishing with us for two dollars; if his time wasn't 

 worth that we could go alone; but if we did go alone we . 

 needn't fish in their brook unless we paid one dollar each 

 for the privilege; that was the long and short of it. Lige 

 had been easy going and his friends had "bout eat him up 

 [I looked at Ben], and he had took his pay in thanks, but 

 that day was passed; 'twouldn't happen again, not as long 

 as she lived, she guessed." 



We waited for an interval iu her talk and then informed 

 her that we would stay on her terms. Lige was told to 

 finish his "stent," put out oiu- horse and then mflk the 

 cows, but we took care of the horse and milked the cows, 

 thinking that thus we could piu-chase Lige's time and 

 have a good smoke and talk with him out back of the 

 barn after 8; but we were disappointed, for just as he fin- 

 ished his last stick he was invited into the house to churn, 

 and we sti-olled out in the evening mists to smoke and 

 ruminate alone, though not before we saw Lige shoot an 

 appeahng glance ii4o his wife's hard face. 



We did not see him again that night, for on our retm-n 

 to the house, our hostess, taking a brass candlestick and 

 tallow dip, bade us follow, and we went up the old-fash- 

 ioned staircase after her, feehng much as we used to when 

 as small boys we were put to bed nightly by our mothers. 

 We were left with a cold "good night," and found our- , 

 selves in a large bedchamber full of the scents of damp 

 and decay. Though everything was neat and clean, yet 

 aU was somehow stamped with an indescribable fimereal 

 appearance. Gloomy and vast was the room, and its walla 

 were hung with an old-fashioned dark-tinted paper on. 

 which were full-blown roses of duU brown color. StainsJ 

 of long ago, caused probably by leakage of rain through! 

 chestnut shingles, appeared frequently on the wall. Thai 

 rising wind was stirring the trees outside and a limb ' 

 scraped and poimded the house in a way to lead one into 

 the behef that a terrible gale was blowing. A colored 

 print of Napoleon on a white horse looked grimly at us 

 from over the gilded frame of an old-fashioned mirror, 

 from the top of which a red house with blue trimmings 

 and surrounded with yellow grass beamed cheerfully, as 

 if to reassure us. Four x>rim rush-bottom chairs, the seats 

 newly painted white, a taU, old-fashioned mahogany 

 bureau, a four-post rope bedstead on which, dome shape, 

 rose the two feather beds and comfortables, completed the 

 tout ensemble. , i i. +i, i * 



We maintamed a grim reticence, but, thanks to the 

 sweet restorer, sleep, we soon forgot om- troubles, vmtfl 

 a thundering knock at the door dispelled our slumbers , 

 and a strong female voice announced that breakfast was 

 nearly ready. We sprang from om- beds eager for sport. 

 Ben jerked up the green paper curtain, but no sun's rays 

 gladdened the room. It was yet dark. I looked at my 



