LITMIR.BIZ

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4064066225025

Table of Contents

       CHAPTER I

       CHAPTER II

       CHAPTER III

       CHAPTER IV

       CHAPTER V

       CHAPTER VI

       CHAPTER VII

       CHAPTER VIII

       CHAPTER IX

       CHAPTER X

       CHAPTER XI

       CHAPTER XII

       CHAPTER XIII

       CHAPTER XIV

       CHAPTER XV

       CHAPTER XVI

       CHAPTER XVII

       CHAPTER XVIII

       CHAPTER XIX

       CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER I

       Table of Contents

      "Hi hum," observed Mr. Joel Macomber, putting down his knife and fork with obvious reluctance and tilting back his chair. "Hi hum-a-day! Man, born of woman, is of few days and full of—of somethin', I forget what—George, what is it a man born of woman is full of?"

      George Kent, putting down his knife and fork, smiled and replied that he didn't know. Mr. Macomber seemed shocked.

      "Don't know?" he repeated. "Tut, tut! Dear me, dear me! A young feller that goes to prayer meetin' every Friday night—or at least waits outside the meetin'-house door every Friday night—and yet he don't remember his Scriptur' well enough to know what man born of woman is full of? My soul and body! What's the world comin' to?"

      Nobody answered. The six Macomber children, Lemuel, Edgar, Sarah-Mary, Bemis, Aldora and Joey, ages ranging from fourteen to two and a half, kept on eating in silence—or, if not quite in silence, at least without speaking. They had been taught not to talk at table; their mother had taught them, their father playing the part of horrible example. Mrs. Macomber, too, was silent. She was busy stacking plates and cups and saucers preparatory to clearing away. When the clearing away was finished she would be busy washing dishes and after that at some other household duty. She was always busy and always behind with her work.

      Her husband turned to the only other person at the crowded table.

      "Cap'n Sears," he demanded, "you know 'most everything. What is it man born of woman is full of besides a few days?"

      Sears Kendrick thoughtfully folded his napkin. There was a hole in the napkin—holes were characteristic of the Macomber linen—but the napkin was clean; this was characteristic, too.

      "Meanin' yourself, Joel?" he asked, bringing the napkin edges into line.

      "Not necessarily. Meanin' any man born of woman, I presume likely."

      "Humph! Know many that wasn't born that way?"

      Mr. Macomber's not too intellectual face creased into many wrinkles and the low ceiling echoed with his laugh. "Not many, I don't cal'late," he said, "that's a fact. But you ain't answered my question, Cap'n. What is man born of woman full of?"

      Captain Kendrick placed the folded napkin carefully beside his plate.

      "Breakfast, just now, I presume likely," he said. "At least, I know two or three that ought to be, judgin' by the amount of cargo I've seen 'em stow aboard in the last half hour." Then, turning to Mrs. Macomber, he added, "I'm goin' to help you with the dishes this mornin', Sarah."

      The lady of the house had her own ideas on that subject.

      "Indeed you won't do anything of the sort," she declared. "The idea! And you just out of a crippled bed, as you might say."

      This remark seemed to amuse her husband hugely. "Ho, ho!" he shouted. "That's a good one! I didn't know the bed was crippled, Sarah. What's the matter with it; got a pain in the slats?"

      Sarah Macomber seldom indulged in retort. Usually she was too busy to waste the time. But she allowed herself the luxury of a half minute on this occasion.

      "No," she snapped, "but it's had one leg propped up on half a brick for over a year. And at least once a week in all that time you've been promisin' to bring home a new caster and fix it. If that bed ain't a cripple I don't know what is."

      Joel looked a trifle taken aback. His laugh this time was not quite as uproarious.

      "Guess you spoke the truth that time, Sarah, without knowin' it. Who is it they say always speaks the truth? Children and fools, ain't it? Well, you ain't a child scarcely, Sarah. Hope you ain't the other thing. Eh? Ho, ho!"

      Mrs. Macomber was halfway to the kitchen door, a pile of plates upon her arm. She did not stop nor turn, but she did speak.

      "Well," she observed, "I don't know. I was one once in my life, there's precious little doubt about that."

      She left the room. Young Kent and Captain Kendrick exchanged glances. Mr. Macomber swallowed, opened his mouth, closed it and swallowed again. Lemuel and Sarah-Mary, the two older children, giggled. The clock on the mantel struck seven times. The sound came, to the adults, as a timely relief from embarrassment.

      Captain Kendrick looked at his watch.

      "What's that?" he exclaimed. "Six bells already? So 'tis. I declare I didn't think 'twas so late."

      Joel rose to his feet, moving—for him—with marked rapidity.

      "Seven o'clock!" he cried. "My, my! We've

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