Bruvver Jim's Baby Read online

  CHAPTER VII

  THE SUNDAY HAPPENINGS

  But to open the service when quiet reigned again and expectation wasonce more concentrated upon him afforded something of a poser still tothe lanky old Jim, elected to perform the offices of leading.

  "Where's Shorty Hobb with his fiddle?" said he.

  "Parky wouldn't leave him come," answered Bone. "He loaned him moneyon his vierlin, and he says he owns it and won't leave him play in nochurch that ever got invented."

  "Parky, hey?" said Jim, drawlingly. "Wal, bless his little home'pathicpill of a soul!"

  "He says he's fed more poor and done more fer charity than any man intown," informed a voice.

  "Does, hey?" said the miner. "I'll bet his belly's the only poor thinghe feeds regular. His hand ain't got callous cutting bread for theorphans. But he ain't a subject for church. If only I'd 'a' knownwhat he was agoin' to do I'd made a harp. But let it go. We'll startoff with roll-call and follow that up with a song."

  He therefore began with the name of Webber, who responded "Here," andproceeding to note who was present, he drawled the name or familiarsobriquet of each in turn, till all had admitted they were personallyin attendance.

  "Ahem," said Jim, at the end of this impressive ceremony. "Now we'llsing a hymn. What hymn do you fellows prefer?"

  There was not a great confusion of replies; in fact, the confusionresulted from a lack thereof.

  "As no one indicates a preference," announced the miner, "we'll tackle'Darling, I am growing old.' Are there any objections? All infavor?--contrary minded?--the motion prevails. Now, then, alltogether--'Darling--'Why don't you all git in?"

  "How does she go?" inquired Webber.

  "She goes like this," Jim replied, clearing his throat:

  "'Darling, I am growing o-old, Silver bars among the gold; Shine upon--te dum te dumpty-- Far from the old folks at home.'"

  "Don't know it," said a voice.

  "Neither do I."

  "Nor I."

  "Nor I."

  The sheep of the flock all followed in a chorus of "Nor I's."

  "What's the matter with 'Swing Low, Sweet Cheery O'?" inquired Lufkins.

  "Suits me," Jim replied. "Steam up."

  He and the teamster, in duet, joined very soon by all the congregation,sang over and over the only lines they could conjure back to memory,and even these came forth in remarkable variety. For the greater part,however, the rough men were fairly well united on the simple version:

  "'Swing low, sweet cheery O, Comin' for to carry me home; Swing low, sweet cheery O, Comin' for to carry me home.'"

  This was sung no less than seven times, when Jim at length lifted hishand for the end.

  "We'll follow this up with the Lord's Prayer," he said.

  Laying his big, freckled hand on the shoulder of the wondering littlepilgrim, seated so quietly upon the anvil, he closed his eyes and bowedhis head. How thin, but kindly, was his rugged face as the lines weresoftened by his attitude!

  He began with hesitation. The prayer, indeed, was a stumbling towardsthe long-forgotten--the wellnigh unattainable.

  "'Our Father which art in heaven . . . Our Father which art in heaven--'

  "Now, hold on, just a minute," and he paused to think before resumingand wiped his suddenly sweating brow.

  "'Our Father which art in heaven-- If I should die before I wake . . . Give us our daily bread. Amen.'"

  The men all sat in silence. Then Keno whispered, so loudly that everyone could hear;

  "By jinks! I didn't think he could do it!"

  "We'll now have another hymn," announced the leader, "There used to beone that went on something about, 'I'm lost and far away from theshack, and it's dark, and lead me--somewhere--kindly light.' Any oneremember the words all straight?"

  "I don't," replied the blacksmith, "but I might come in on the chorus."

  "Seems to me," said Bone, "a candle or just a plain, unvarnished light,would 'a' went out. It must have bin a lantern."

  "Objection well taken," responded Jim, gravely. "I reckon I got itturned 'round a minute ago. It was more like:

  "'Lead me on, kindly lantern, For I am far from home, And the night is dark.'"

  "It don't sound like a song--not exactly," ventured Lufkins. "Why notgive 'em 'Down on the Swanee River'?"

  "All right," agreed the "parson," and therefore they were all presentlysinging at the one perennial "hymn" of the heart, universal in itsapplication, sweetly religious in its humanism. They sang it with awoful lack of its own original lines; they put in string on string of"dum te dums," but it came from their better natures and it sanctifiedthe dingy shop.

  When it was ended, which was not until it had gone through persistentrepetitions, old Jim was prepared for almost anything.

  "I s'pose you boys want a regular sermon," said he, "and if only I'd'a' had the time--wal, I won't say what a torch-light procession of asermon you'd have got, but I'll do the best I can."

  He cleared his throat, struck an attitude inseparable from Americanelocution, and began:

  "Fellow-citizens--and ladies and gentlemen--we--we're an ornary lot ofbackwoods fellers, livin' away out here in the mountains and the brush,but God Almighty 'ain't forgot us, all the same. He sent a littleyoungster once to put a heartful of happiness into men, and He's sentthis little skeezucks here to show us boys we ain't shut off fromeverything. He didn't send us no bonanza--like they say they've got inSilver Treasury--but I wouldn't trade the little kid for all thebullion they will ever melt. We ain't the prettiest lot of ducks Iever saw, and we maybe blow the ten commandants all over the camp withgiant powder once in a while, lookin' 'round for gold, but, boys, weain't throwed out complete. We've got the love and pity of GodAlmighty, sure, when he gives us, all to ourselves, a little helplessfeller for to raise. I know you boys all want me to thank the Fatherof us all, and that's what I do. And I hope He'll let us know the wayto give the little kid a good square show, for Christ's sake. Amen."

  The men would have listened to more. They expected more, indeed, andwaited to hear old Jim resume.

  "That's about all," he said, as no one spoke, "except, of course, we'llsing some more of the hymns and take up collection. I guess we'dbetter take collection first."

  The congregation stirred. Big hands went down into pockets.

  "Who gets the collection?" queried Field.

  Jim drawled, "When it ain't buttons, it goes to the parson; when it is,the parson's wife gits in."

  "You 'ain't got no wife," objected Bone.

  "That's why there ain't goin' to be no buttons," sagely answered theminer. "On the square, though, boys, this is all for the littleskeezucks, to buy some genuine milk, from Miss Doc Dennihan's goat."

  "What we goin' to put our offerings into?" asked the blacksmith, as theboys made ready with their contributions. "They used to hand around apie-plate when I was a boy."

  "We'll try to get along with a hat," responded Jim, "and Keno here canpass it 'round. I've often observed that a hat is a handy thing tocollect things in, especially brains."

  So the hat went quickly from one to another, sagging more and more inthe crown as it travelled.

  The men had come forward to surround the anvil, with the tiny littlechap upon its massive top, and not one in all the groups was there whodid not feel that, left alone with the timid bit of a pilgrim, he couldget him to talking and laughing in the briefest of moments.

  The hymns with which old Jim had promised the meeting should concludewere all but forgotten. Two or three miners, whose hunger for song wasnot to be readily appeased, kept bringing the subject to the foreagain, however, till at length they were heard.

  "We're scarin' little Skeezucks, anyhow," said the brawny smith, oncemore reviving the fire in the forge.

  "Let's sing 'In the Sweet By-and-By,' if all of us know it," suggesteda young fellow scarcely more than a lad. "It's awful easy."

  "Wal, you start her bilin',"
replied the teamster.

  The young fellow blushed, but he nerved himself to the point and sangout, nervously at first, and then, when his confidence increased, in aclear, ringing tenor of remarkable purity, recalling the old-time wordsthat once were so widely known and treasured:

  "'There's a land that is fairer than day, And by faith we can see it afar, For the Father waits over the way To prepare us a dwelling-place there.'"

  Then the chorus of voices, husky from neglect and crude from lack ofculture, joined in the chorus, with a heartiness that shook the dingybuilding:

  "'In the sweet by-and-by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore; In the sweet by-and-by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore.'"

  They followed this with what they knew of "Home, Sweet Home," and so atlast strolled out into the sunshine of the street, and surrounded thequaint little foundling, as he looked from one to another in babygravity and sat in his timid way on the arm of "Bruvver Jim."

  "I'll tell you what," said the blacksmith, "now that we've found thatwe can do the job all right, we'll get up a Christmas for littleSkeezucks that will lift the mountains clean up off the earth!"

  "Good suggestion," Jim agreed. "But the little feller feels tired now.I am goin' to take him home."

  And this he did. But after lunch no fewer than twenty of the men ofBorealis climbed up the trail to get another look at the quiet littleman who glorified the cabin.

  But the darkness had only begun to creep through the lowermost channelsof the canyons when Skeezucks fell asleep. By then old Jim, the pup,and Keno were alone with the child.

  "Keno, I reckon I'll wander quietly down and see if Doc will let me buya little milk," said Jim. "You'd better come along to see that hissister don't interfere."

  Keno expressed his doubts immediately, not only as to the excellence ofgoat's milk generally, but likewise as to any good that he could do byjoining Jim in the enterprise suggested.

  "Anyway," he concluded, "Doc has maybe went on shift by this time.He's workin' nights this week again."

  Jim, however, prevailed. "You don't get another bite of grub in thisshack, nor another look at the little boy, if you don't come ahead anddo your share."

  Therefore they presently departed, shutting Tintoretto in the cabin to"watch."

  In half an hour, having interviewed Doc Dennihan himself on thehill-side quite removed from his cabin, the two worthies came climbingup towards their home once again, Jim most carefully holding in hishands a large tin cup with half an inch of goat's milk at the bottom.

  While still a hundred yards from the house, they were suddenly startledby the mad descent upon them of the pup they had recently left behind.

  "Huh! you young galoot," said Jim. "You got out, I see!"

  When he entered the cabin it was dark. Keno lighted the candle and Jimput his cup on the table. Then he went to the berth to awaken the tinyfoundling and give him a supper of bread and milk.

  Keno heard him make a sound as of one in terrible pain.

  The miner turned a face, deadly white, towards the table.

  "Keno," he cried, "he's gone!"