Manly Wade Wellman - John the Balladeer SSC by John the Balladeer (v1.1) Page A

in hand. "No sir, Mr. Loden, we're proud
to have you, mighty proud," he jabber-squawked, like a rooster caught by
the leg. "You sit down, sir, make yourself easy."
                 Mr.
Loden sat down on the seat-rock Mr. Tewk had left, and Mr. Tewk found a place
on the stoop log by his wife, nervous as a boy stealing apples.
                 "Your
servant, Mrs. Millen," said Mr. Loden. "Heber, you look well, and
your good wife. Calder, I brought you candy."
                 His
slim hand offered a bright striped stick, red and yellow. You'd think a country
child would snatch it. But Calder took it slow and scared, as he'd take a
poison-snake. You'd think he'd decline if he dared.
                 "For
you, Mr. Tewk," went on Mr. Loden, "I've fetched some of my tobacco.
An excellent weed." He handed Mr. Tewk a pouch of soft brown leather.
"Empty your pipe. Enjoy it, sir."
                 "Thank
you kindly," said Mr. Tewk, and sighed and began to do what he'd been
ordered.
                 "And
Miss Vandy." Mr. Loden's croon petted her name. "I wouldn't venture
here without hoping you'd receive a trifle at my hands."
                 He
dangled it from a chain, a gold thing the size of his pink thumbnail. In it
shone a white jewel, that grabbed the firelight and twinkled red.
                 "Do
me the honor, Miss Vandy, to let it rest on your heart, that I may envy
it."
                 She
took the jewel and sat with it between her soft little hands. Mr. Loden turned
his eye-knives on me. "Now," he said, "we come around to the
stranger within your gates."
                 "Yes,
we come around to me," I agreed, hugging my guitar on my knee. "My
name's John, Mr. Loden."
                 "Where
are you from, John?" It was sudden, almost fierce, like a lawyer in a
courtroom.
                 "From
nowhere," I said.
                 "Meaning,
from everywhere," he supplied me. "What do you do?"
                 "I
wander," I said. "I sing songs. I mind my own business and watch my
manners."
                 "Touche!" he cried in a
foreign tongue, and smiled on that same side of his mouth. "You oblige me
to remember how sometimes I err in my speech. My duties and apologies, John.
I'm afraid my country ways seem rude at times, to world travellers. No
offense."
                 "None
taken," I said, and kept from adding on that real country ways were polite
ways.
                 "Mr.
Loden," put in Mr. Tewk again, "I make bold to offer you what poor
rations my old woman's made—"
                 "Sir,"
Mr. Loden broke him off, "they're good enough for the best man living.
I'll help Mrs. Millen prepare them. After you, ma'am."
                 She
walked in, and he followed. What he said there was what happened.
                 "Miss
Vandy," he said next, "you might help us."
                 She
went in, too. Dishes clattered. Through the open door I saw Mr. Loden put a
tweak of powder in the skillet on the fire. The menfolks sat outside and said
nothing. They might have been nailed down, with stones in their mouths. I
studied about what could make a proud, honorable mountain family so scared of a
guest and I knew there was only the one thing. And that one thing wouldn't be
just a natural thing. It would be a thing beyond nature or the world.
                Finally little Calder said,
"Maybe we can finish the song after a while," and his voice was a
weak young voice now.
                 "I
recollect about another song from here," I said. "About the fair and
blooming wife."
                 Those
closed mouths all snapped open, then shut again. Touching the guitar's silver
strings, I began:
                 There was a fair and blooming wife
                 And of children she had three. She sent them
away to Northern