i had never seen mrs. fishley use violence upon my poor sister before, though i afterwards learned that this was not the first time. i was a solid-built, stout fellow of sixteen; and when i seized the shrew by the shoulders, i was in real earnest. i had not made up my mind for this occasion to keep cool, and i did not keep so. i was as mad as a bear robbed of her cubs.
the idea of mrs. fishley's taking my poor deformed sister by the arm, and shaking her, was too revolting, and even horrible, to be endured. if i could bear everything else, i could not bear that. at the present time, i have this pleasant consciousness, that i did not strike the woman; i only grasped her by the shoulders, and hurled her away from her victim. it was a vigorous movement on my part, [22]and mrs. fishley staggered till she saved herself by taking hold of a chair. she gathered herself up, and her eyes flashed fire.
"you rascal, you! what do you mean?" gasped she; and at the same instant she rushed towards flora, who was trembling with terror in her chair.
"stop a minute, mrs. fishley," i added.
"you rascal, you!" repeated she, looking first at me, and then at flora.
"if you put the weight of your little finger on my sister again, i'll tear you in pieces," i continued, with both fists clinched.
"what do you mean, you serpent, you?"
"you touch her again, and you will know what i mean."
"don't, buckland, don't," pleaded poor flora, alarmed by the hostile demonstration before her.
"i should like to know!" cried mrs. fishley.
as she did not tell me what she should like to know, i did not tell her. i stood upon the defensive between the virago and my sister's chair.
she rushed towards flora.—page 22.
"did any one ever see such a boy!" continued the termagant, her tones a whole octave above the [23]treble staff, as it seemed to me. "how dare you put your hand on me?"
"i dare."
"you rascal, you!"
"you may snap and snarl at me as much as you like; i don't mind it; but you shall not abuse my sister."
"abuse your sister, you wretch!" said she, the words hissing from her mouth. "i should like to know!"
"you will know if you touch flora again," i answered.
somehow i felt as though mrs. fishley was not getting the better of me in this argument; and i soon came to the conclusion that she thought so herself, for she settled into a chair, and began to exhibit some symptoms of hysterics.
"o, dear me!" she groaned. "i don't have to work enough to kill common folks, i don't have more trials than any living being, but something new must come upon me. there, i shall give up!"
"you must give up abusing flora," i put in.
"how dare you tell me i abuse her?" snapped [24]she. "haven't i taken the best of care of her? haven't i made her clothes for her? haven't i nursed her when she was sick? haven't i done for her ever since she came into the house?"
i don't think she had the least idea that she was not the best friend flora had in the world, so blind are many people to their own errors and shortcomings.
"she has had enough to eat, and enough to wear; and my brother has paid for all she has had," i added. "but you are continually scolding at her, browbeating her, and making her as uncomfortable and unhappy as you can."
"scolding her!" almost whistled mrs. fishley, so high was the key. "i never scold at any one. i never was a scolding woman."
"gracious!" i exclaimed, mentally.
"when things don't suit me, i'm apt to say so; but i never scold," whined the shrew. "whatever people may say of me, they can't call me a scolding woman."
was it possible she thought so!
"i don't want to make any trouble, mrs. fishley,"[25] i replied, when she paused, rather for want of breath than for any other reason.
"mercy! i shouldn't think you did! ain't you ashamed of yourself to treat me as you did? you push me about as though you thought i wasn't anybody."
"are you not ashamed of yourself for shaking that sick child?" i retorted.
"i didn't shake her."
"then i didn't push you."
"you are getting to be a very bad boy, buck bradford; and you haven't heard the last of this," she said, rising from her chair, and restoring the griddle to the stove, which flora had taken off. "i should like to know! can't i speak to that girl without being treated in that manner? she would let the cakes all burn up before she would touch them."
"i didn't know they were burning, mrs. fishley," pleaded flora. "you didn't tell me to see to them."
"suppose i didn't tell you! didn't you know enough not to let them burn? you are a careless, [26]indifferent girl, and it don't make no difference to you how much trouble you make for a body."
"i would have seen to the cakes, if you had spoken to me."
"i don't care anything about the cakes, anyhow," i interposed. "if you can't help scolding flora, you must keep your hands off her."
"you don't care anything about the cakes! i should like to know! well, we'll see about it! i'll know who rules here, i vum! i'll call mr. fishley! we'll see if you don't care!" rattled mrs. fishley, as she bolted from the kitchen through the entry into the store.
"o, buckland, what will become of us!" exclaimed flora, rising with difficulty from her chair, and throwing herself upon my breast.
"don't be afraid, flora," i replied, pressing her to my heart, while the tears started in my eyes. "she shall not abuse you, whatever happens to me. while she did it only with her tongue, i bore it; but when she took hold of you, i couldn't stand that, flora—no, i could not."
"i can bear it very well, buckland." she never [27]called me "buck," as everybody else did about the place. "i only fear what they will do to you."
"i can take care of myself, dearest flora. i am strong and tough, and i can stand almost anything," i answered, pressing her to my heart again, for she seemed to be the only person in the world who loved me.
and how i loved her—poor orphan child, weak, sick, and deformed! it seemed to me it would have been different if she had been well and strong, and able to fight her own battle with the hard and cruel world. she was helpless and dependent, and that which shut her out from the rest of the world endeared her to me, and wound her in with every fibre and tendril of my heart.
mrs. fishley did not immediately return; neither did her husband appear upon the battle-field; and i concluded that she could not find him.
while, folded in each other's arms, we waited in almost breathless anxiety for the coming of our tyrants, let me give the reader a few necessary particulars in regard to our antecedents and surroundings.[28]
torrentville, where the story opens, is situated in the south-western part of wisconsin, though, for obvious reasons, it will not be found on the map. it was located on a stream, which we called the "creek," though it has since received a more dignified and specific name, about seven miles from riverport, on the wisconsin river. at the time of which i write it contained two thousand inhabitants. captain fishley—he had been an officer in the militia in some eastern state, and his title had gone west with him—kept the principal store in the place, and was the postmaster.
my father had moved from the state of new york to torrentville when i was eight years old, and soon after the death of my mother. he had three children, clarence, flora, and myself. he bought a farm just out of the village, employed a housekeeper, and for four years got along very well. but he was too ambitious, and worked too hard for his constitution. after a four years' residence in the west, he died. that was a sad day to us, for he was the kindest of fathers. poor flora scarcely ceased to weep, at times, for a year, over the loss of her only parent.[29]
captain fishley was appointed administrator of the estate, and when it was settled there was hardly fifteen hundred dollars left. my brother clarence was just twenty-one when my father died, and he was appointed the guardian of flora and myself. he was considered a very smart young man, and no one doubted his ability to take care of us. but he was dissatisfied with torrentville; there was not room enough for a young man of his ability to expand himself. he had no taste for farming, and for two years had been a clerk in captain fishley's store. he wanted to go to new orleans, where he believed he could make his fortune. about a year after the death of his father, he decided to try his luck in the metropolis of the south-west.
clarence was a good brother, and i am sure he would not have gone, if he had not felt satisfied that flora and myself were well provided for. i was then a boy of thirteen, handy at almost anything about the farm, the house, and the garden, and captain fishley wanted me to come and live with him. clarence agreed to pay flora's board, so that she was a boarder at the house of the fishleys.[30] it was stipulated that i should go to school, and do certain "chores" for my board, while clarence paid for my clothes. my principal work, and all that the captain said i should be required to do, was to take care of the horse, and go after the mail every evening.
instead of this, i was compelled to be at the beck and call of all upon the place, including ham, the captain's only son, and miserably spoiled at that. before i had been a year in my new home, i was dissatisfied, for the cloven heels of the three members of the family had appeared. i was crowded with work, picked upon, insulted, and trodden under foot. perhaps i could have endured my fate, if poor flora, upon whom our tyrants had no claims, had fared well.
we heard from clarence occasionally, and learned in general terms, from his letters, that he was doing very well. i did not like to bother him with complaints, and i did not do so till existence had become almost a burden. i think clarence wrote back to the captain, and for a time there was some improvement in our condition; but it soon became worse [31]than before. i repeated my complaint. my brother wished us to get along as well as we could till he could spare the time to visit us; but that time had not yet arrived.
a few days before my story opens, early in april, i had a letter from him, saying that he was well established in business for himself, and that he would certainly come to torrentville in october, as soon as the sickly season was over, and take us to new orleans. he added that he should be married before that time, and would bring his wife with him. this was joyful news, but it was a dreary while to wait.
the door suddenly opened, and mrs. fishley bounced into the kitchen, followed by her husband, both of them apparently wrought up to the highest pitch of anger by my misdeeds.
