Poems of Robert Frost. Large Collection, includes A Boy's Will, North of Boston and Mountain Interval (10 page)

“I mean Estelle has always held the purse.”

“The rights of that are harder to get at.

I guess Estelle and I have filled the purse.

’Twas we let him have money, not he us.

John’s a bad farmer. I’m not blaming him.

Take it year in, year out, he doesn’t make much.

We came here for a home for me, you know,

Estelle to do the housework for the board

Of both of us. But look how it turns out:

She seems to have the housework, and besides,

Half of the outdoor work, though as for that,

He’d say she does it more because she likes it.

You see our pretty things are all outdoors.

Our hens and cows and pigs are always better

Than folks like us have any business with.

Farmers around twice as well off as we

Haven’t as good. They don’t go with the farm.

One thing you can’t help liking about John,

He’s fond of nice things—too fond, some would say.

But Estelle don’t complain: she’s like him there.

She wants our hens to be the best there are.

You never saw this room before a show,

Full of lank, shivery, half-drowned birds

In separate coops, having their plumage done.

The smell of the wet feathers in the heat!

You spoke of John’s not being safe to stay with.

You don’t know what a gentle lot we are:

We wouldn’t hurt a hen! You ought to see us

Moving a flock of hens from place to place.

We’re not allowed to take them upside down,

All we can hold together by the legs.

Two at a time’s the rule, one on each arm,

No matter how far and how many times

We have to go.”

“You mean that’s John’s idea.”

“And we live up to it; or I don’t know

What childishness he wouldn’t give way to.

He manages to keep the upper hand

On his own farm. He’s boss. But as to hens:

We fence our flowers in and the hens range.

Nothing’s too good for them. We say it pays.

John likes to tell the offers he has had,

Twenty for this cock, twenty-five for that.

He never takes the money. If they’re worth

That much to sell, they’re worth as much to keep.

Bless you, it’s all expense, though. Reach me down

The little tin box on the cupboard shelf,

The upper shelf, the tin box. That’s the one.

I’ll show you. Here you are.”

“What’s this?”

“A bill—

For fifty dollars for one Langshang cock—

Receipted. And the cock is in the yard.”

“Not in a glass case, then?”

“He’d need a tall one:

He can eat off a barrel from the ground.

He’s been in a glass case, as you may say,

The Crystal Palace, London. He’s imported.

John bought him, and we paid the bill with beads—

Wampum, I call it. Mind, we don’t complain.

But you see, don’t you, we take care of him.”

“And like it, too. It makes it all the worse.”

“It seems as if. And that’s not all: he’s helpless

In ways that I can hardly tell you of.

Sometimes he gets possessed to keep accounts

To see where all the money goes so fast.

You know how men will be ridiculous.

But it’s just fun the way he gets bedeviled—

If he’s untidy now, what will he be——?

“It makes it all the worse. You must be blind.”

“Estelle’s the one. You needn’t talk to me.”

“Can’t you and I get to the root of it?

What’s the real trouble? What will satisfy her?”

“It’s as I say: she’s turned from him, that’s all.”

“But why, when she’s well off? Is it the neighbours,

Being cut off from friends?”

“We have our friends.

That isn’t it. Folks aren’t afraid of us.”

“She’s let it worry her. You stood the strain,

And you’re her mother.”

“But I didn’t always.

I didn’t relish it along at first.

But I got wonted to it. And besides—

John said I was too old to have grandchildren.

But what’s the use of talking when it’s done?

She won’t come back—it’s worse than that—she can’t.”

“Why do you speak like that? What do you know?

What do you mean?—she’s done harm to herself?”

“I mean she’s married—married someone else.”

“Oho, oho!”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Yes, I do,

Only too well. I knew there must be something!

So that was what was back. She’s bad, that’s all!”

“Bad to get married when she had the chance?”

“Nonsense! See what’s she done! But who, who——”

“Who’d marry her straight out of such a mess?

Say it right out—no matter for her mother.

The man was found. I’d better name no names.

John himself won’t imagine who he is.”

“Then it’s all up. I think I’ll get away.

You’ll be expecting John. I pity Estelle;

I suppose she deserves some pity, too.

You ought to have the kitchen to yourself

To break it to him. You may have the job.”

“You needn’t think you’re going to get away.

John’s almost here. I’ve had my eye on someone

Coming down Ryan’s Hill. I thought ’twas him.

Here he is now. This box! Put it away.

And this bill.”

“What’s the hurry? He’ll unhitch.”

“No, he won’t, either. He’ll just drop the reins

And turn Doll out to pasture, rig and all.

She won’t get far before the wheels hang up

On something—there’s no harm. See, there he is!

My, but he looks as if he must have heard!”

John threw the door wide but he didn’t enter.

“How are you, neighbour? Just the man I’m after.

Isn’t it Hell,”
he said
. “I want to know.

Come out here if you want to hear me talk.

I’ll talk to you, old woman, afterward.

I’ve got some news that maybe isn’t news.

What are they trying to do to me, these two?”

“Do go along with him and stop his shouting.”

She raised her voice against the closing door:

“Who wants to hear your news, you—dreadful fool?”

A lantern light from deeper in the barn

Shone on a man and woman in the door

And threw their lurching shadows on a house

Near by, all dark in every glossy window.

A horse’s hoof pawed once the hollow floor,

And the back of the gig they stood beside

Moved in a little. The man grasped a wheel,

The woman spoke out sharply, “Whoa, stand still!”

“I saw it just as plain as a white plate,”

She said, “as the light on the dashboard ran

Along the bushes at the roadside—a man’s face.

You
must
have seen it too.”

“I didn’t see it.

Are you sure——”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“—it was a face?”

“Joel, I’ll have to look. I can’t go in,

I can’t, and leave a thing like that unsettled.

Doors locked and curtains drawn will make no difference.

I always have felt strange when we came home

To the dark house after so long an absence,

And the key rattled loudly into place

Seemed to warn someone to be getting out

At one door as we entered at another.

What if I’m right, and someone all the time—

Don’t hold my arm!”

“I say it’s someone passing.”

“You speak as if this were a travelled road.

You forget where we are. What is beyond

That he’d be going to or coming from

At such an hour of night, and on foot too.

What was he standing still for in the bushes?”

“It’s not so very late—it’s only dark.

There’s more in it than you’re inclined to say.

Did he look like——?”

“He looked like anyone.

I’ll never rest to-night unless I know.

Give me the lantern.”

“You don’t want the lantern.”

She pushed past him and got it for herself.

“You’re not to come,” she said. “This is my business.

If the time’s come to face it, I’m the one

To put it the right way. He’d never dare—

Listen! He kicked a stone. Hear that, hear that!

He’s coming towards us. Joel, go in—please.

Hark!—I don’t hear him now. But please go in.”

“In the first place you can’t make me believe it’s——”

“It is—or someone else he’s sent to watch.

And now’s the time to have it out with him

While we know definitely where he is.

Let him get off and he’ll be everywhere

Around us, looking out of trees and bushes

Till I sha’n’t dare to set a foot outdoors.

And I can’t stand it. Joel, let me go!”

“But it’s nonsense to think he’d care enough.”

“You mean you couldn’t understand his caring.

Oh, but you see he hadn’t had enough—

Joel, I won’t—I won’t—I promise you.

We mustn’t say hard things. You mustn’t either.”

“I’ll be the one, if anybody goes!

But you give him the advantage with this light.

What couldn’t he do to us standing here!

And if to see was what he wanted, why

He has seen all there was to see and gone.”

He appeared to forget to keep his hold,

But advanced with her as she crossed the grass.

“What do you want?” she cried to all the dark.

She stretched up tall to overlook the light

That hung in both hands hot against her skirt.

“There’s no one; so you’re wrong,” he said.

“There is.—

What do you want?” she cried, and then herself

Was startled when an answer really came.

“Nothing.” It came from well along the road.

She reached a hand to Joel for support:

The smell of scorching woollen made her faint.

“What are you doing round this house at night?”

“Nothing.” A pause: there seemed no more to say.

And then the voice again: “You seem afraid.

I saw by the way you whipped up the horse.

I’ll just come forward in the lantern light

And let you see.”

“Yes, do.—Joel, go back!”

She stood her ground against the noisy steps

That came on, but her body rocked a little.

“You see,” the voice said.

“Oh.” She looked and looked.

“You don’t see—I’ve a child here by the hand.

A robber wouldn't have his family with him."

“What’s a child doing at this time of night——?”

“Out walking. Every child should have the memory

Of at least one long-after-bedtime walk.

What, son?”

“Then I should think you’d try to find

Somewhere to walk——”

“The highway as it happens—

We’re stopping for the fortnight down at Dean’s.”

“But if that’s all—Joel—you realize—

You won’t think anything. You understand?

You understand that we have to be careful.

This is a very, very lonely place.

Joel!” She spoke as if she couldn’t turn.

The swinging lantern lengthened to the ground,

It touched, it struck it, clattered and went out.

“Willis, I didn’t want you here to-day:

The lawyer’s coming for the company.

I’m going to sell my soul, or, rather, feet.

Five hundred dollars for the pair, you know.”

“With you the feet have nearly been the soul;

And if you’re going to sell them to the devil,

I want to see you do it. When’s he coming?”

“I half suspect you knew, and came on purpose

To try to help me drive a better bargain.”

“Well, if it’s true! Yours are no common feet.

The lawyer don’t know what it is he’s buying:

So many miles you might have walked you won’t walk.

You haven’t run your forty orchids down.

What does he think?—How are the blessed feet?

The doctor’s sure you’re going to walk again?”

“He thinks I’ll hobble. It’s both legs and feet.”

“They must be terrible—I mean to look at.”

“I haven’t dared to look at them uncovered.

Through the bed blankets I remind myself

Of a starfish laid out with rigid points.”

“The wonder is it hadn’t been your head.”

“It’s hard to tell you how I managed it.

When I saw the shaft had me by the coat,

I didn’t try too long to pull away,

Or fumble for my knife to cut away,

I just embraced the shaft and rode it out—

Till Weiss shut off the water in the wheel-pit.

That’s how I think I didn’t lose my head.

But my legs got their knocks against the ceiling.”

“Awful. Why didn’t they throw off the belt

Instead of going clear down in the wheel-pit?”

“They say some time was wasted on the belt—

Old streak of leather—doesn’t love me much

Because I make him spit fire at my knuckles,

The way Ben Franklin used to make the kite-string.

That must be it. Some days he won’t stay on.