Alan Thorne wuz hung for the murder, guilty, so the earthly court said. But who wuz sot down guilty in God’s great book of Justice that day? Arvilly believes that over Alan Thorne’s name wuz printed:
“Alan Thorne, foolish boy, tempted and ondone by the country he was trying to save.” And then this sentence in fiery flame:
“The United States of America, guilty of murder in the first degree.”
Dretful murder, to take the life of the one that loved it and wuz tryin’ to save it.
Well, Arvilly’s last thing to love wuz taken from her cruelly, and when she got strong enough she sot off for Jonesville in her soldier clothes, for she thought she would wear ’em till she got away, but she wuz brung back as a deserter and Waitstill stood by her durin’ her trial, and after Alan’s death she too wuz smit down, like a posy in a cyclone. Arvilly, in her own clothes now, tended her like a mother, and as soon as she wuz able to travel took her back to Jonesville, where they make their home together, two widders, indeed, though the weddin’ ring don’t show on one of their hands.
Waitstill goes about doin’ good, waitin’ kinder still, some like her name, till the Lord sends her relief by the angel that shall stand one day in all our homes. She don’t talk much.
But Arvilly’s grief is different. She told me one day 63 when I wuz tellin’ her to chirk up and be more cheerful and comfortable:
“I don’t want to be comfortable; I don’t want to feel any different.”
“Whyee, Arvilly!” sez I, “don’t you want to see any happiness agin?”
“No, I don’t,” sez she, “I don’t want to take a minute’s comfort and ease while things are in the state they be.” Sez she, “Would you want to set down happy, and rock, and eat peanuts, if you knew that your husband and children wuz drowndin’ out in the canal?”
“No,” sez I, “no, indeed! I should rush out there bareheaded, and if I couldn’t save ’em, would feel like dyin’ with ’em.”
“Well,” sez she, short as pie crust, “that’s jest how I feel.”
I believe and so Josiah duz that Arvilly would walk right up to a loaded cannon and argy with it if she thought it would help destroy the Saloon, and after she had convinced the cannon she would be perfectly willin’ to be blowed up by it if the Saloon wuz blowed up too.
Well, I sot thinkin’ of all this till Tommy waked up and we all went out into the dining car and had a good meal. We wuz a little over two days goin’ from Salt Lake City to San Francisco, and durin’ that time I calculated that I eat enough dirt, that bitter alkali sand, to last lawful all my life. I believe one peck of dirt is all the law allows one person to consume durin’ their life. It seems as if I eat more than enough to meet legal requirements for me and Josiah, and I seemed to have a thick coatin’ of it on my hull person. And poor little Tommy! I tried to keep his face clean and that wuz all I could do.
But as we drew nearer to California the weather became so balmy and delightful that it condoned for much that wuz onpleasant, and I sez to myself, the lovely views I have 64 seen between Chicago and California I shall never forgit as long as memory sets up in her high chair.
What a panorama it wuz––beautiful, grand, delightful, majestic, sublime––no words of mine can do it justice. No. I can never describe the views that opened on our admirin’ and almost awe-struck vision as the cars advanced through natural openin’s in the mountains and anon artificial ones.
Why, I had thought that the hill in front of old Grout Nickelson’s wuz steep, and the road a skittish one that wound around it above the creek. But imagine goin’ along a road where you could look down thousands of feet into running water, and right up on the other side of you mountains thousands of feet high. And you between, poor specks of clay with only a breath of steam to keep you agoin’ and prevent your dashin’ down into that enormous abyss.
But Grandeur sot on them mountain tops, Glory wuz enthroned on them sublime heights and depths, too beautiful for words to describe, too grand for human speech to reproduce agin, the soul felt it and must leave it to other souls to see and feel.
On, on through mountain, valley, gorge and summit, waves of green foliage, rocks all the beautiful colors of the rainbow, majestic shapes, seemin’ly fashioned for a home for the gods; white peaks––sun-glorified, thousands of feet high with blue sky above; ravines thousands of feet deep with a glint of blue water in the depths, seemin’ to mirror to us the truth that God’s love and care wuz over and under us. And so on and on; valleys, mountains, clear lakes, forests and broad green fields, tree sheltered farms, and anon the broad prairie. It wuz all a panorama I never tired of lookin’ at, and lasted all the way to California.
As our stay wuz to be so short in San Francisco, Miss Meechim and Dorothy thought it would be best to go to a hotel instead of openin’ Dorothy’s grand house; so we all went to the tarven Miss Meechim picked out, the beautifullest tarven that ever I sot eyes on, it seemed to me, and 65 the biggest one. Havin’ felt the swayin’, jiggerin’ motion of the cars so long, it wuz indeed a blessin’ to set my foot on solid ground once more, and Tommy and I wuz soon ensconced in a cozy room, nigh Miss Meechim’s sweet rooms. For she still insisted on callin’ their rooms sweet, and I wouldn’t argy with her, for I spoze they did seem sweet to her.
Tommy wuz tired out and I had to take him in my arms and rock him, after we’d had our supper, a good meal which Miss Meechim had brung up into their settin’-room, though I insisted on payin’ my part on’t (she’s a good creater, though weak in some ways). Well I rocked Tommy and sung to him:
“Sweet fields beyend the swellin’ flood.”
And them sweet fields in my mind wuz our own orchard and paster, and the swellin’ flood I thought on wuzn’t death’s billers, but the waters that rolled between California and Jonesville.
Not one word had I hearn from my pardner sence leavin’ New York.
“Oh, dear Josiah! When shall I see thee agin?” So sung my heart, or ruther chanted, a deep solemn chant. “Where art thou, Josiah, and when shall we meet agin? And why, why do I not hear from thee?”
The next mornin’ after we arrived at San Francisco, Robert Strong appeared at the hotel bright and early, and I don’t know when I’ve ever seen anybody I liked so well. Miss Meechim invited me into her settin’-room to see him.
Havin’ hearn so much about his deep, earnest nater and deathless desire to do all the good he could whilst on his earthly pilgrimage, I expected to see a grave, quiet man with lines of care and conflict engraved deep on his sober, solemn visage.
But I wuz never more surprised to see a bright, laughin’, 66 happy face that smiled back into mine as Albina Meechim proudly introduced her nephew to me.
Why, thinkses I to myself, where can such strength of character, such noble purpose, such original and successful business habits be hidden in that handsome, smilin’ face and them graceful, winnin’ ways, as he laughed and talked with his aunt and Dorothy.
But anon at some chance word of blame and criticism from Miss Meechim, makin’ light of his City of Justice and its inhabitants, a light blazed up in his eyes and lit up his face, some as a fire in our open fireplace lights up the spare-room, and I see stand out for a minute on the background of his fair handsome face a picture of heroism, love, endeavor that fairly stunted me for a time. And I never felt afterwards anything but perfect confidence in him; no matter how light and trifling wuz his talk with Dorothy, or how gay and boyishly happy wuz his clear laughter.
He had worked well and faithful, givin’ his hull mind and heart to his endeavor to do all the good he could, and now he wuz bound to play well, and git all the good and rest he could out of his play spell. And I hadn’t been with ’em more’n several hours before I thought that I