Peter Simple

“ He drove as well, he was better looking—he told himself—and he was infinitely larger. To Billy's simple understanding it was quantity, not quality, that makes the man. He resented Peter's assumption of superiority, and he intended, when opportunity should present itself, to take it out of Peter.
"I don't care about fetchin' out the new maid any more than Billy," Peter nonchalantly threw off after a prolonged pause, "only I've got to take a note to the Holidays for Miss Ethel, and I'd just as lief stop at the station; it won't be much out o' me way."
"All right," said Joe. "Suit yourself." ”

“ Sure it’s you that’s the schoolmaster, and not me—for I learn from you every day.”
“I have not read much, O’Brien, to-day, for I have been thinking of poor Mr Chucks.”
“Very right for you so to do, Peter: never forget your friends in a hurry; you’ll not find too many of them as you trot along the highway of life.”
“I wonder whether he is dead?”
“Why, that’s a question I cannot answer: a bullet through the chest don’t lengthen a man’s days, that’s certain; but this I know, that he’ll not die if he can help it, now that he’s got the captain’s jacket on.” ”

“ Peter."
"He seems to want a good many things, if we were to judge by his catalogue; what a pity it is that these poor people are not better instructed."
"That they never will be, Peter, while there is what may be called free trade in religion."
"You speak like a Catholic, O'Brien."
"I am one," replied he. And here our conversation ended, for we were close to the boat, which was waiting for us on the beach.
The next day a man-of-war brig arrived from England, bringing letters for the squadron on the station. I had two from my sister Ellen which made me very uncomfortable. ”

“ The beach of such a pure dazzling white, backed by the tall, green cocoa-nut trees, waving their spreading heads to the fresh breeze, the dark blue of the sky, and the deeper blue of the transparent sea, occasionally varied into green as we passed by the coral rocks which threw their branches out from the bottom—the town opening to our view by degrees, houses after houses, so neat, with their green jalousies, dotting the landscape, the fort with the colours flying, troops of officers riding down, a busy population of all colours, relieved by the whiteness of their dress. ”

“ As the Priest of his Family, he always made it a rule to be short in reading and prayer, so as never to weary the children or servants. His prayers were very simple and devotional, offered up in strong faith. He often mentioned individuals by name as their circumstances required particular notice. The poor and the needy, the sick and the dying, the widow and the fatherless, were seldom omitted in his supplications at the throne of the heavenly grace ”

“ Another saith: "Ne have thow nat for no grete thyng the frendship of a foole, forwhi it is nat to the abidyng." Another: "Bettir is the felawship of a simple man nurisshed among sapient men than led and brought furth with feders of prudent men." [22] Another: "Swetter it is to a wise man sharp lif amonge wise men than swete lif among vnwise men." Another saith: "Ther bien two maners and spices of wisdam: that oon is na (f. 121) tural and that other artificial, of the whiche that oon may nat be without that other." ”

“ Down in the little room all this time in the rear of the tailor's shop the two old men sat talking. Peter kept nothing back; his lips quivering again and another unbidden tear peeping over the edge of his eyelid when he told of Jack's offer.
“A dear boy, Isaac—yes, a dear boy. He never thinks with his head—only with his heart. Never has since I knew him. Impulsive, emotional, unpractical, no doubt—and yet somehow he always wins. Queer—very queer! He comes upstairs to me and I start out on a fool's errand. He goes down to you, and you hand him out your money. ”

“ She knew at once it was Peter’s voice, but in her joy and excitement she forgot to open the door, running back into the prayer-meeting room and crying out, “Peter is out of prison! Peter is at the door.” All arose from their knees and said, “Rose, you must be crazy to talk like that.” “No, I am not,” she said; “it is Peter!”
“Isn’t it too bad?” said one, “Herod has already killed Peter, not waiting until to-morrow; and God has sent Peter’s angel to comfort us.” “No,” cried Rose; “no, it is not Peter’s angel; it is Peter himself! I know I am right! ”

“ Then Peter denied again, and immediately the cock crew, Then said the damsel that kept the door, unto Peter, Art not thou also one of this man's disciples? he saith, I am not, but denied, saying, I know not the man, neither understand I what thou sayest. And he went out into the porch, and the cock crew; but he began to curse and swear, saying, I know not this man of whom ye speak. When Peter had gotten some feeling in his conscience, he went out and wept bitterly. 'Awake to righteousness, and sin not; for some have not the knowledge of God: I speak this to your shame,' I Cor. ”

“ Perhaps had Peter been born to make his own way in the world he would have developed a good mind and enough character to have enabled him to acquit himself creditably. As it was, however, his thinking had always been hired out and his character had remained almost rudimentary, except that he had been taught to resist any and all attempts to get money out of him—had been taught in much the same way that Nature teaches the oyster to close its shell when anything disagreeable tries to enter, teaches the worm to squirm out of the way when it feels a touch. ”

“ Lifted the smoke from the earth and baffled the witch's intentions.
One of the boys at that time was a certain young person named Peter,
Given too little to work, given too largely to dreaming;
Fonder of books than of chores you can imagine that Peter
Led a sad life on the farm, causing his parents much trouble.
"Peter!" his mother would call, "the cream is a-ready for churning!"
"Peter!" his father would cry, "go grub at the weeds in the garden!"
So it was "Peter!" all day—calling, reminding and chiding—
Peter neglected his work; therefore that nagging at Peter! ”

“ Peter shook his head. Morris, he knew, was the unconscious culprit, but this was not for his sister's or Ruth's ears—not, at least, until he could get at the exact facts for himself.
“He is as sensitive as a plant,” continued Peter; “he closes all up at times. But he is genuine, and he is sincere—that's better than poise, sometimes.”
“Well, then, maybe Ruth has offended him,” suggested Miss Felicia. “No—she couldn't. Ruth, what have you done to young Mr. Breen?” ”

“ Through the front gate to the road, braving the hideous vapor—
Sought him in lane and on pike, called him in orchard and meadow,
Clamoring "Peter!" in vain, vainly outcrying for Peter.
Joining the search came the rest, brothers and sisters and cousins,
Venting unspeakable fears in pitiful wailing for Peter!
And from the neighboring farms gathered the men and the women,
Who, upon hearing the news, swelled the loud chorus for Peter. ”

“ The thing would be well enough if Peter whispered to keep the folly of what he says among friends; but, alas! he does it to preserve the importance of his own thoughts. It is a wonderful thing that, although he is never heard to talk about things in nature, and never seen with a book in his hand, yet he can whisper something like knowledge of what has and of what now passes in the world, which one would think he learned from some familiar spirit that did not think him worthy to receive the whole story. ”

“ Some men are masters of cities, or perhaps better, of all the elements which enter into the making of them, and Peter was one. I think sometimes that he was born a writer of great force and charm, only as yet he had not found himself. I have known many writers, many geniuses even, but not one his superior in intellect and romantic response to life. He was a poet, thinker, artist, philosopher and master of prose, as a posthumous volume ("Wolf, the Autobiography of a Cave Dweller") amply proves, but he was not ready then to fully express himself, and it troubled him not at all. ”

“ And his faith in Monck—his wariness, his discretion—was unbounded.
She did question Peter with regard to Rustam Karin, but she elicited scant satisfaction from him. Peter went but little to the native bazaar, and like herself had never seen the man. He appeared so seldom and then only by night. There was a rumour that he was leprous. This was all that Peter knew.
And so it seemed useless to pursue the matter. She could only wait and watch. Some day the man might emerge from his lair, and she would be able to identify him beyond all dispute. Peter could help her then. ”

“ Come the shrill voices of birds calling and calling for Peter;
Out of the maple and beech glitter the eyes of the wailers,
Peeping and peering for him who formerly lived in these places—
Peter, the heretic lad, lazy and careless and dreaming,
Sorely afflicted with books and with pubescent paresis.
Hating the things of the farm, care of the barn and the garden. ”

“ Peter scanned the portrait. “Not a trace. That may also be a question of grandfathers—” and another laugh rippled out. “But just be thankful you bear his name. It isn't always necessary to have a long line of gentlemen behind you, and if you haven't any, or can't trace them, a man, if he has pluck and grit, can get along without them; but it's very comforting to know they once existed. Now let me sit down and listen to you,” added Peter, whose random talk had been inspired by the look of boyish embarrassment on Jack's face. ”

“ Peter in his enthusiasm had made a mental picture of a repetition of all this and had already voiced it in the suggestion of these and various other prominent names, when Miss Felicia stopped him with:
“No, Peter—No. It's not to be a museum of fossils, but a garden full of rosebuds; nobody with a strand of gray hair will be invited. As for the lame, the halt and the blind, they can come next week. I've just been looking you over, Peter; you are getting old and wrinkled and pretty soon you'll be as cranky as the rest of them, and there will be no living with you. ”

“ By the end of the second mile two dimples appeared in her cheeks. At the third mile she shut her mouth tight to keep a laugh from escaping. At the fourth mile she spoke.
"Say, Pete, why don't ye talk to me? Are ye mad?" ”

“ Peter broke into a laugh. It was the only way he could keep down the tears.
“What a dear boy you are, Jack,” he said, backing toward the sofa and regaining his seat. “You've got a heart as big as a house, and I'm proud of you, but no—not a penny of your money. Think a moment! Your father didn't leave the property to me—not any part of it—he left it to you, you spendthrift! When I get too old to work I am going up to Felicia's and pick out an easy-chair and sit in a corner and dry up gradually and be laid away in lavender. ”

“ Life to Peter was indeed so splendid that he was always very much wrought up about it, eager to live, to study, to do a thousand things. For him it was a workshop for the artist, the thinker, as well as the mere grubber, and without really criticizing any one he was "for" the individual who is able to understand, to portray or to create life, either feelingly and artistically or with accuracy and discrimination. ”

“ Peter had not said so in so many words—it was always with a jest or a laugh that he corrected his faults, but he felt their truth all the same.
For some minutes he leaned back in his chair, his eyes on the ceiling; then he said in a tone of conviction:
“I WAS wrong about Mr. Cohen, Uncle Peter. I am always putting my foot in it. He is an extraordinary man. He certainly is, to listen to, whatever he is in his business.”
“No, Jack, my boy—you were only honest,” Peter rejoined, passing over the covert allusion to the financial side of the tailor. “You didn't like his race and you said so. ”

“ No—there was no trace of old age about Peter.
He was ready now—hatted, coated and gloved—not a hint of the ostrich egg or shaggy shutters visible, but a well-preserved bachelor of forty or forty-five; strictly in the mode and of the mode, looking more like some stray diplomat caught in the wiles of the Street, or some retired magnate, than a modest bank clerk on three thousand a year. The next instant he was tripping down the granite steps between the rusty iron railings—on his toes most of the way ”

“ How in the world you ever did it, and what—”
“And did you hear my frogs?” interrupted his hostess.
“Of course he didn't, Felicia,” broke in Peter. “What a question to ask a man! Listen to the croakings of your miserable tadpoles with the prettiest girl in seven counties—in seven States, for that matter—sitting beside him! Oh!—you needn't look, you minx! If he heard a single croak he ought to be ducked in the puddle—and then packed off home soaking wet.”
“And that is what he is going to do himself,” rejoined Ruth, dropping into a chair which Peter had drawn up for her. ”

“ Her sweet back-bent head, her shining eyes, the lamp-light falling on her hair out of the night. He even heard the sea as it beat on the stones of the quay—or thought he did—and felt the whip of the wind. And behind her, dominating, arms outspread, the harbour crucifix. And she saw that he saw, and she whispered: "Do you hate Him, Peter?" ”