ALTHOUGH Mr. Bill Williams had moved into Dukesborough,
this exaltation did not seem to interfere with the cordial relations
established between him and myself at the Lorriby school. He used to
come out occasionally on visits to his mother, and seldom returned
without calling at our house. This occurred most usually upon the
Sundays when the monthly meetings were held in the church at
Dukesborough. On such days he and I usually rode home together,
I upon my pony and he upon a large brown mare which his mother
had sent to him in the forenoon.

Ever since those remote times I have associated in my memory Mr.
Bill with that mare, and one or another of her many colts. According
to the best of my recollection, she was for years and years never
without a colt. Her normal condition seemed to be always to be
followed by a colt. Sometimes it was a horse-colt and sometimes
a mule; for the planters in those times raised at home all their
domestic animals. And what a lively little fellow this colt
always was; and what an anxious parent was old Molly Sparks, as
Mr. Bill called the dam! How that colt would run about and get

[figure description] Page 178.[end figure description]

mixed up with the horses in the grove around the church; and how
the old mare would whicker all during the service! I knew that
whicker among a hundred. Mr. Bill used always to tie her to a
swinging limb; for her anxiety would sometimes cause her to break
the frail bridle which usually confined her, and run all about the
grounds in pursuit of her truant offspring. Mr. Bill had also to sit
where he could see her in order to be ready for all difficulties. I
used to be amused to notice how he would be annoyed by her cries
and prancings, and how he would pretend to be listening intently to
the sermon when his whole attention I knew to be on old Mary and
the colt. Seldom was there a Sunday that he did not have to leave
the church in order to catch old Mary and tie her up again. This
was a catastrophe he was ever dreading, because he really disliked to
disturb the service; and he had the consideration when he rose to go
to place his handkerchief to his face, that the congregation might
suppose that his nose was bleeding.

While we would be riding home, the conduct of that colt, if anything,
would be worse than at the church. His fond parent would exert
every effort to keep him by her side, but he would get mixed up with
the horses more than before. Twenty times would he be lost. Sometimes
he would be at an immense distance behind; then he would
pretend, as it seemed, to be anxiously looking for his mother, and
would run violently against every horse, whether under the saddle or
in harness. Old Mary would wheel around and try to get back, her
whickers ever resounding far and wide. When the colt would have
enough of this frolic, or some one of the home-returning horsemen
would give him a cut with his riding-switch, he would get out upon the
side of the road, run at full speed past his dam and get similarly mixed
up with the horses in front. If he ever got where she was he would
appear to be extravagantly gratified, and would make an immediate
and violent effort to have himself suckled. Failing in this, he would
let fly his hind legs at her, and dash off again at full speed in whatever
direction his head happened to be turned. Mr. Bill would often say
that of all the fools he ever saw, old Molly and her colt were the
biggest. As for my part, the anxiety of the parent seemed to me
natural in the circumstances; but I must confess that in the matter of
the quality usually called discretion, while the young of most animals
have little of it usually, I have frequently thought that of all others
the one who had the least amount was the colt.

[figure description] Page 179.[end figure description]

Yet I did not intend to speak of such a trifling matter, but was led
to it unwarily by the association of ideas. Mr. Bill often accepted our
invitations to dinner upon these Sundays, or he would walk over in
the afternoon. Although he liked much the society of my parents,
yet he was fondest of being with me singly. I was certainly more
appreciative of his conversation than they were. With all his fondness
for talking, there was some constraint upon him, especially in the
presence of my father, for whom he had the profoundest respect. So,
somehow or other Mr. Bill and I would get away to ourselves, when
he could display his full powers in that line. This was easily practicable,
as never or seldom did such a day pass without our having
other guests to dinner from among those neighbors who resided at a
greater distance from the village than we did. Our table on these
Sundays was always extended to two or three times its usual length.
My parents, though they were religious, thought there was no harm in
detaining some of these neighbors to dinner and during the remainder
of the day.

Mr. Bill had evidently realised his expectations of the pleasures and
advantages of town-life. It seemed to me that he was greatly improved
by it. He had evidently laid aside some of his ancient awkwardness
and hesitation of manner. He talked more at his ease.
Then he gave a more careful and fashionable turn to his hair, and, I
thought, combed and brushed it oftener than he had been wont. His
trousers too were better pulled up, and his shirt-collar was now never or
seldom without the necessary button. I was therefore somewhat surprised
to hear my father remark more than once that he did not think
that town-life was exactly the best thing for Mr. Bill, and that he
would not be surprised if he would not have done better to keep at
home with his mother. But Mr. Bill grew more and more fond of
Dukesborough, and he used to relate to me some of the remarkable
things that occurred there. About every one of the hundred inhabitants
of the place and those who visited it, he knew everything that
by any possibility could be ascertained. He used to contend that it
was a merchant's business to know everybody, and especially those
who tried to conceal their affairs from universal observation. He had
not been very long in Dukesborough before he could answer almost
any question you could put to him about any of his fellow-citizens.

With one exception.

This was Mr. Jonas Lively.

[figure description] Page 180.[end figure description]

He was too hard a case for Mr. Bill. Neither he nor any other
person, not even Mrs. Hodge, seemed to know much about him. The
late Mr. Hodge probably knew more than anybody else; but if he
did, he did not tell anybody, and now he was dead and gone, and Mr.
Lively was left comparatively unknown to the world.

Where Mr. Lively had come from originally people did not know
for certain, although he had been heard occasionally to use expressions
which induced the belief that he might have been a native of the
State of North Carolina. It was ascertained that he had done business
for some years in Augusta, and some said that he yet owned a
little property there. This much was certain that he went there or
somewhere else once every winter, and after remaining about a month,
returned, as was supposed, with two new vests and pairs of trousers.
At the time I began to take an interest in him, in sympathy with Mr.
Bill, he had been residing at Dukesborough for about two years; not
exactly at Dukesborough either, but something less than a mile
outside, where he boarded with the Hodges, occupying a small
building in one corner of the yard, which they called “The Office,”
and in which before he came the family used to take their meals. He
might have had his chamber in the main house where the others stayed
but for one thing; for besides the two main rooms there were a
couple of low-roofed shed-rooms in front, only one of which was
occupied by Susan Temple, a very poor relation of Mr. Hodge.
There were no children, and Mr. Lively might have had the other
shed-room across the piazza but for the fact that it was devoted to
another purpose. Mr. Hodge —

But one at a time. Let me stick to Mr. Lively for the present, and
tell what little was known about him.

Mr. Lively was about fifty-one or two years of age. Mr. Bill used
to insist that he would never see fifty-five again, and that he would not
be surprised if he was sixty. I have no idea but that this was an
over-estimate. The truth is that, as I have often remarked, young
men like Mr. Bill are prone to assign too great age to elderly men,
especially when, like Mr. Lively, they are unmarried. But let that go.

Mr. Lively was about five feet five, quite stout in body, but of
moderate-sized legs. He had a brown complexion, brown hair and
black eyebrows. His eyes were a mild green, with some tinge of red
in the whites. His nose was Roman, or would have been if it had been
longer; for just as it began to hook and to become Roman it stopped

[figure description] Page 181.[end figure description]

short, as if upon reflection it thought it wrong to ape ancient and
especially foreign manners. He always wore a long black frock-coat,
either gray or black trousers and vest, and a very stout low-crowned
furred hat. He carried a hickory walking-stick with a hooked
handle.

Mr. Lively had come to the neighborhood about two years before
and taken board at the Hodges'. He had never seemed to have any
regular business. True, he would be known sometimes to buy a
bale of cotton, or it might be two or three, and afterwards have
them hauled to Augusta by some neighbor's wagon when the
latter would be carrying his own to market. Then he occasionally
bought a poor horse out of a wagon and kept it at the Hodges' for a
couple of months, and got him fat and sold him again at a smart
profit. He was a capital doctor of horses, and was suspected of
being somewhat proud of his skill in that line, as he would cheerfully
render his services when called upon, and always refused any compensation.
But when he traded, he traded. If he bought, he put
down squarely into the seller's hands; if he sold, the money had to
be put squarely into his. Such transactions were rare, however; he
certainly made but little in that way. But then he spent less.
Besides five dollars a month for board and lodging, he furnishing his
own room, if he was out any more nobody knew what it was for.

He was a remarkably silent man. Although he came into Dukesborough
almost every day, he had but little to say to anybody and
stayed but a short time. The greater part of the remainder of the
day he spent at home, partly in walking about the place and partly in
reading while sitting in his chamber, or in the piazza between the
two little shed-rooms in the front part of the house. He never went
to church; yet upon Sundays he read the Bible and other religious
books almost the livelong day.

In the life-time of Mr. Hodge he was supposed to know considerable
about Mr. Lively. The latter certainly used to talk with him with
more freedom than with any other person. Mrs. Hodge never was
able to get much out of Mr. Lively, notwithstanding that she was a
woman who was remarkably fond of obtaining as much information
as possible about other persons. She used to give it as her opinion
that there was nothing in Mr. Lively, and in his absence would talk
and laugh freely at his odd ways and looks. But Mr. Hodge at such
times (when he felt that it was safe to do so) would mildly rebuke his

[figure description] Page 182.[end figure description]

wife. After Mr. Hodge had died, the opinion became general that
no person was likely to succeed him in Mr. Lively's confidence, and
there was a good deal of dissatisfaction upon the subject.

Mr. Bill Williams felt this dissatisfaction to an uncommon degree.
Being now a citizen of Dukesborough, he felt himself strongly bound
to be thoroughly identified with all its interests. Any man that
thus kept himself apart from society and refused to allow everybody
to know all about himself and his business, was in his opinion a
suspicious character, and ought to be watched. What seemed to
concern him more than anything else was a question frequently
mooted as to whether Mr. Lively's hair was his own or was a wig.
Such a thing as the latter had never been seen in the town, and therefore
the citizens were not familiar with it; but doubts were raised
from the peculiar way in which Mr. Lively's hung from his head, and
there were others besides Mr. Bill who would have liked to see them
settled — not that this would have fully satisfied him, but he would
have felt something better. Mr. Bill desired to know all about Mr.
Lively, it is true; yet if he had been allowed to investigate him fully,
he certainly would have begun with his head. “The fact of it ar,” he
maintained, “that it aint right. It aint right to the Dukesborough
people, and it aint right to the transhent people. Transhent people
comes here goin through, and stops all night at Spouter's tavern.
They ax about the place and the people; and who knows but what
some of 'em mout wish to buy propty and come and settle here? In
cose I in ginerly does most o' the talkin to sich people, and tells 'em
about the place and the people. I don't like to be obleeged to tell
'em that we has one suspicious character in the neighborhood, and
which he ar so suspicious that he don't never pull off his hat, and that
people don't know whether the very har on his head ar his'n or not.
I tell you it aint right. I made up my mind the first good chance I
git to ax Mr. Lively a few civil questions about hisself.”

It was not very long after this before an opportunity was presented
to Mr. Bill of chatting a little with Mr. Lively. The latter had
walked into the store one morning when there was no other person
there except Mr. Bill, and inquired for some drugs to give to a sick
horse. Mr. Bill carefully but slowly made up the bundle, when the
following dialogue took place:

“I'm monstous glad to see you, Mr. Lively; you don't come into
the store so monstous powerful ofting. I wish I could see you here

[figure description] Page 183.[end figure description]

more ofting. Not as I'm so mighty powerful anxious to sell goods,
though that's my business, and in course I feels better when trade's
brisk; but I jest nately would like to see you. You may not know
it, Mr. Lively, but I don't expect you've got a better friend in this
here town than what I am.”

Mr. Bill somehow couldn't find exactly where the twine was; he
looked about for it in several places, especially where it was quite
unlikely that it should be. Mr. Lively was silent.

“I has thought,” continued Mr. Bill, after finding his twine, “that I
would like to talk with you sometimes. The people is always a
inquirin of me about where you come from and all sich, and what
business you used to follow, jest like they thought you and me was
intimate friends,— which I am as good a friend as you've got in the
whole town, and which I spose you're a friend of mine. I tells 'em
you're a monstous fine man in my opinion, and I spose I does know
you about as well as anybody else about here. But yit we haint had
no long continyed convisation like I thought we mout have some time,
when it mout be convenant, and we mout talk all about old North
Calliner whar you come from, and which my father he come from thar
too, which he ar now dead and gone. Law! how he did love to
talk about that old country! and how he did love the people that
come from thar. If my father was here, which now he ar dead and
gone, he wouldn't let you rest wheresomever he mout see you for
talkin about old North Calliner and them old people thar.”

Mr. Bill handed the parcel over to Mr. Lively with as winning a look
as it was possible for him to bestow. Mr. Lively seemed slightly
interested.

“And your father was from North Carolina?”

“Certinly,” answered Mr. Bill with glee; “right from Tar River.
I've heern him and mammy say so nigh and in and about a thousand
times, I do believe.” And Mr. Bill advanced from behind the counter,
came up to Mr. Lively, and looked kindly and neighborly upon him.

“Do you ever think about going there yourself?” inquired the
latter.

Mr. Bill did that very thing over and ofting. From a leetle bit of a
boy he had thought how he would like to go thar and see them old
people. If he lived, he would go thar some day to that old place and
see them old people.

From the way Mr. Bill talked, it seemed that his ideas were that

[figure description] Page 184.[end figure description]

the North Carolinians all resided at one particular place, and that
they were all quite aged persons. But this was possibly intended as
a snare to catch Mr. Lively, by paying in this indirect manner respect
for his advanced age.

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Lively, while he stored away the parcel in
his capacious pocket, “you ought to go there by all means. If you
should ever go there, you will find as good people as you ever saw in
your life. They are a peaceable people, those North Carolinians, and
industrious. You hardly ever see a man there that has not got some
sort of business; and then, as a general thing, people there attend to
their own business and don't bother themselves about other people's.”

Mr. Lively then turned and walked slowly to the door. As he
reached it, he turned again and said:

“Oh yes, Mr. Williams, you ought to go there and see that people
once before you die; it would do you good. Good-day, Mr. Williams.”

After Mr. Lively had gotten out of the store and taken a few steps,
Mr. Bill went to the door, looked at him in silence for a moment or
two, and then made the following soliloquy:

“Got no more manners than a hound. I axed him a civil question,
and see what I got! But never mind, I'll find out somethin about you
yit. Now, aint thar a picter of a man! Well you cars a walkin-stick:
them legs needs all the help they can git in totin the balance of you
about. And jest look at that har: I jest know it aint all his'n. But
never do you mind.”

After this, Mr. Bill seemed to regard it as a point of honor to find
Mr. Lively out. Hitherto he had owed it to the public mainly; now,
there was a debt due to himself. He had propounded to Mr. Lively
a civil question, and instead of getting a civil answer had been as
good as laughed at. Mr. Lively might go for the present, but he
should be up with him in time.

It was perhaps fortunate for Mr. Bill's designs, as well for the
purposes of this narrative, that he was slightly akin to Mrs. Hodge,
whom he occasionally visited. However, we have seen that this lady
had known heretofore about as little of her guest as other people, and
that, at least in the life-time of Mr. Hodge, her opinion was that there
was nothing in him. True, since Mr. Hodge's death she had been
more guarded in her expressions. Mrs. Hodge probably reflected
that now she was a lone woman in the world, except Susan Temple,

[figure description] Page 185.[end figure description]

who was next to nothing, she ought to be particular. Mr. Bill had
sounded his cousin Malviny (as he called her) heretofore, and of
course could get nothing more than she had to impart. He might
give up some things, but they were not of the kind we are considering.
He informed me one day that on one subject he had made up his
mind to take the responsibility. This expression reminded me of our
last day with the Lorribies, and I hesitated whether the fullest reliance
could be placed upon such a threat. But I said nothing.

“That thing,” he continued, “are the circumsance of his har: which
it ar my opinion that it ar not all his'n: which I has never seed a wig,
but has heern of 'em; and which it ar my opinion that that har ar a
imposition on the public, and also on Cousin Malviny Hodge, and he
a livin in her very house — leastways in the office. I mout be mistaken;
ef so, I begs his pardon: though he have not got the manners
of a hound, no, not even to answer a civil question. Still I wouldn't
wish to hurt a har of his head; no, not even ef it war not all his'n.
Yit the public have a right to know, and — I wants to know myself.
And I'm gittin tired of sich foolin and bamboozlin, so to speak; and
the fact ar, that Mr. Lively ar got to 'splain hisself on the circumsance
o' that har.”

The next time I met Mr. Bill he was delighted with some recent
and important information. I shall let him speak for himself.