Johnnie Green

“ When quite a young man, John's father, a Lowlander, had also found employment on the Craik estate as gardener, and later by reason of his faithful work and popularity in the community, he had been made game-warden. The young gardener and the young lady's-maid soon fell in love with each other, were married, and in due course of time were blessed with five children, of whom Johnnie was the youngest. He was born in the year 1747. William, the brother, had gone to live with a cousin, William Jones, a childless planter in Virginia, before John was born. Willie had never been back since that day. ”

“ Old Johnnie's eyes glittered with unnatural brightness. He was telling his own secret. Very vividly he made us see a man alone in the blue night, dim sand spreading away, dark-blue mountains on blueness. Not a sound, not even the breath of the night stirring the sagebrush. Through white, empty days and blue, empty nights he is always alone. He listens to his own heart beating. ”

“ He wasn't a puppy very long. He grew and grew, until he was too large for his box, and had to sleep in the front hall of the Jones's house. He and Johnnie Jones loved each other dearly, and were almost always together. Mother used to say that they reminded her of Mary and her lamb, except that Jack was as black as coal.
You remember how Mary's lamb followed her to school one day, which was against the rule? Well, it was necessary to keep Jack in the closet every morning, until after Johnnie Jones had gone to kindergarten, because he always wanted to go with him. ”

“ Johnnie Jones said, "do you think they'll come soon?"
"Listen!" Mother answered.
Then Johnnie Jones heard a sound that made him clap his hands with joy. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Galloping down the street came the splendid big fire-horses drawing the hook-and-ladder. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! Down the street came the fire-engine, the hose carriage, and the salvage corps wagon. ”

“ Johnnie obeyed. He was stunned—that any man having on a One-Eye hat could act so bad. His pride was hurt, too, at being kicked at in public, and called a rat—he, the intimate of the famous Westerner. And his sense of justice was outraged; he had done nothing to deserve attack and insult.
This was not a matter for one of those "think" revenges. He might never see the man again, and whatever he did must be as plain to all passersby as had been the other's performance. So when Johnnie was well out of reach of the long-haired man, he halted to call back at him. "You ain't no real cowboy!" ”

“ After that day he never again cried for a cookie when he had eaten it, nor for a toy when he had destroyed it, because he had discovered that crying could never bring back what was gone.
When Johnnie Jones Was Lost
Johnnie Jones was lost, completely lost. He looked up the street, he looked down the street, and then he looked across the street, but not one of the houses was his home. Johnnie Jones did not like being lost. He had not seen his mother for a very long time, not since she had left him in the yard at play after they had returned from market. ”

“ What remained of the group began to aim questions at Johnnie, rooted to the pavement beside his box. [152] "Who's 'at, kid? What's he want? What y' goin' t' do?"
To answer, Johnnie had to lower himself down from the skies, to which he had been lifted by that salute. "You kids don't know One-Eye," he said, a trifle loftily. "Well, do y' know Aladdin? or Long John Silver? or—or Jim Hawkins? or Uncas? or King Arthur?"
The last name proved to be an error in selection. Instantly the half-dozen boys about Johnnie set up a derisive shout: "He knows a King! Aw, kids! He knows a King! Whee!" ”

“ Nothing could make Johnnie despair, no disappointment could warp the simple straightforward sincerity, the loyal and almost childlike honesty of his nature. And if here and there, for a short time, fortune seemed to shine upon him, you may be sure that there was no single friend whom he did not call upon to bask with him in these fleeting rays. ”

“ And then, again, in his epistolary rhymes to friends and acquaintances (alas! that was all over now) there were many obvious qualities, but certainly not the lyrical one. Here, for example, are some verses he had sent in former days to a certain Johnnie Pringle, living at Tongue, who had had his eye on a young lass down Loch Loyal way:
O Johnnie, leave the lass alane;
Her mother has but that one wean;
For a' the others have been ta'en,
As weel ye ken, Johnnie.
'Tis true her bonnie e'en would rive
The heart o' any man alive;
And in the husry [#] she would thrive—
I grant ye that, Johnnie. ”

“ Barber's your uncle, eh?"
"He ain't no relation," declared Johnnie, proudly.
The clock alarm announced the hour of five. Johnnie fed the fire and put the supper over. Still the man stayed. Once he got up and walked about, stared into the blackness of Big Tom's bedroom, and held the lamp so that he might have a look at Cis's closet. He grumbled to himself when he put the lamp down.
All this made Johnnie uneasy. He could think of only one reason for such strange and suspicious conduct. The books! Could this by any chance be Mr. J. J. Hunter? ”

“ That is, of course, when there was snow and the pond was frozen over at the same time.
One afternoon Johnnie Jones started out with his sled and Jack ran along beside him.
"Don't try to coast across the pond to-day," called Father. "When I was passing I noticed that the ice was broken in several places."
"Then I'll coast on the other side of the hill," Johnnie Jones answered.
When he reached the park, however, he found two of the children coasting across the pond as usual. One of them, whose name was Ned, asked Johnnie Jones: "What's the matter with everybody to-day? ”

“ To judge from these sounds, the cowboy was carrying out Johnnie's wish. So with that rapt look, and that moving of the nostrils which betokened excited day-dreaming, Johnnie gladdened himself with a soul-satisfying picture of the contest: Big Tom prone on his face, spent, helpless, cowering, pleading, bleeding, while the dashing One-Eye rained blow after blow upon him—bing! bing! bing! ("Makin' a meal outen him," as the man from the West would say) . Next, he saw the longshoreman stretched upon a bed of pain, admitting all of his shortcomings to Father Pat in weak whispers. ”

“ He should stay away as long as he pleased and return when he saw fit.
In a few days the youngster again disappeared. His mother was firm in her resolve and no search was made. Great was poor Johnnie’s disappointment. He [Pg 63] managed to stay away all day, but when it began to grow dark his courage failed and he started for home. He sneaked ignominiously into the kitchen. Nobody spoke to him. ”

“ Time after time they stepped out of the hut and stared apprehensively up the slopes of La Cumbre to assure themselves that this was not all a part of some fantastic illusion; over and over, in minutest detail, Johnnie described what he had seen at the bottom of the well. He tried more than once during the afternoon to sleep, but he could not, for the moment he closed his eyes he found himself back there in that pit upon the ridge's crest, straining at those stubborn rocks and slippery timbers. This inaction was maddening, his fatigue rendered him feverish and irritable. ”

“ Mother said, when she had heard of the children's difficulty, "Sarah and Tom need friends to help them, so why don't you, in your overalls, and Ned, Susie, and the other children in theirs, take your wagons and wheelbarrows, and spend the afternoon helping with the coal? A dozen pairs of hands, even if they are small, can accomplish a great deal of work."
Mother sent her hired man to see that the coal-house was ready for the coal, while Johnnie Jones hurried off to collect the children. ”

“ Through dark ways underground be led.”
Archbishop Trench.
Poor Johnnie was not very happy at that moment. He had descended from the coach at Poppleby, and set out to walk to Downhill, wondering how he should be received at his cousin’s workshop. Everything seemed strangely quiet as he crossed the fields, where he had wandered last night, but there were now and then far-off echoes of voices and shouts. He avoided the village of Downhill, and made his way towards the little street and common of Uphill, but not a creature could he see except Todd’s donkey and a few geese. ”

“ Put on your wrapper and slippers and run up to Maggie's room, and tell her and Kathie to come down here."
Johnnie Jones was a bit frightened, but without another word he ran up those long, dark steps, and aroused the two girls. It was brave of the little boy.
Meanwhile Mother had given the fire alarm through the telephone, slipped on her wrapper, and bundled the baby in a blanket. When the others had come down to her room, she closed the door into the hall.
"It would be dangerous to go downstairs," she said; "we must just wait here at the window until the firemen bring us a ladder." ”

“ Johnnie, glancing about, reflected that, without question, Cis's speller had come from this very room! The arithmetic, too!
"Got any spellers to-day?" he inquired casually—just to show them all that he knew a thing or two about books.
"In several languages," returned the man, quite calmly.
"I like Aladdin better," announced Johnnie. Then trying not to sound too proud, "I got it here with me right now." Whereupon he reached into the baggy shirt and drew forth Mrs. Kukor's gift.
"Bless his heart!" cried a woman. "He does love them!"
To Johnnie this seemed a foolish remark. Love them? ”

“ I wish Jack could."
"Perhaps he can," Father answered. "When I come home to-night I'll make some sort of a harness for him, and then to-morrow we shall see what he can do."
That evening, with rope, straps, and Johnnie Jones's reins Father made a very good harness, and the next day he hitched Jack to the sled. At first Jack could not imagine what Father and Johnnie Jones wished him to do. He allowed himself to be hitched to the sled, but every time Johnnie Jones sat upon it, and said "Get up," Jack would jump about, and off would roll Johnnie Jones into the snow. ”

“ JOHNNIE went through his regular duties in the flat, but he went through them in a daze. Whenever his work was done, he sat down. Then, his body quiet, his brain registered sounds—a far-off voice, the slam of a door, the creak of the stairs, whistles, bells. But his thoughts fixed themselves upon nothing. Aimlessly they moved from one idea to another, yet got nowhere, like chips on currentless water. If he remembered about Father Pat, that memory was dull—so dull that he could not recall the Father's face; and he did not even dream about him at night. He endured no suffering. ”

“ The bedroom door was ajar an inch or two. Through the narrow crack Johnnie glimpsed Grandpa, in his chair, ready to be trundled out. But Barber was lying down, his face half turned away.
"Wheel the old man into the kitchen," said the latter as he heard Johnnie. He spoke with a lisp (that tooth!) , and his voice sounded weak. "And then bring me somethin' t' eat, will y'?"
Having said Yes without a Sir, Johnnie wagged his head philosophically, the while he steered the chair skilfully across the sill. "Plenty o' good turns t' do now," he told himself; "and all o' 'em for him!" ”

“ No Father Pat left in the world! The realization came next, and with it a suffocating sense of loss. His friend was gone, never to return, just as Johnnie's father and mother were gone, just as Aunt Sophie was gone. From the cupboard shelf he took down that bowl of rose leaves, and pondered over them. "Roses die," he told himself, "and people die." There was an end to everything. [408]
"A dove," Cis had told him once, "if its feathers 're all pulled out, or it's got a lead shot in its breast, just the same it doesn't make a sound. It stands the pain." And that was how it was with Johnnie. ”

“ Johnnie Jones ran out into the yard to play. He saw Sammy Smith, Elizabeth, and Ned across the street, and called them. "I want to show you something," he said.
When they came, he led them to the kitchen and showed them the preserves.
"I should like to have some of it," said Ned,—"may I?"
"We made it to use in the winter," Johnnie Jones explained, "when there isn't any fresh fruit."
"I'd like some now on a piece of bread." Ned insisted.
"You said one jar of preserves was yours; give us each a taste," begged Sammy Smith. ”

“ Johnnie said nothing, but dropped one of his pebbles at every turning, which would show him the way back. When they got far into the forest the farmer said to the children,
"My dears, I have to go and get something. Stay here and don't go away, and I'll soon come back. Give me a kiss, children," and with that he hurried away and went back home by another road.
After a time Grizzle began to cry and said,
"Where's father? Where's father? We can't get home. We can't get home."
But Johnnie said, "Never mind, Grizzle, I can take you home; you just follow me." ”

“ Do flies talk? What made Grandpa grow old?
Ah, those were the days which were never to be forgotten!
There came a day which brought with it an added joy. So often Johnnie had mourned the fact that he did not have more than one friend at a time. But late on a blazing August afternoon, just as the Father was getting up to take his leave, the hall door squeaked open slowly, and there on the threshold, with his wide hat, his open vest, watchchain, furred breeches and all, was One-Eye! ("Oh, two at a time, now!" Johnnie boasted to Cis that night. "Two at a time!") ”