WHILE MY LIFE in our valley was
devoted mainly to grand adventure and mischief, I did have serious moments
at times. It was difficult for me to determine what was right and what was
wrong; some things that seemed to impress folks as sinful, did not impress
me that way at all. I had my own theories of right and wrong which
probably would have shocked the minister had he learned of them.
I am sure I would not have been
left in such a quandary if the folks of Wallingford had been divided into
two camps; the good and the bad. If all of the good folks had been church
members and none of the bad folks had been church members, the solution of
the problem would not have been so difficult, but, so far as I could see,
the situation was badly mixed.
On one hand there was old Mrs.
Page, a saint outright. It was her lot to suffer cursing and other forms
of persecution by her husband, the profane and irascible Captain Page,
beyond what would seem to be the limit of human endurance. Manifestly, she
was sustained by a sublime faith. I frequently saw her bent figure passing
our house on her way to church. A smile which was beatific lighted her
pinched and blanched face. If she could have been taken as truly
representative of church members and the old Captain taken as truly
representative of pagans, the solution of the problem would have been
easy. Eve7 sensible and well-intentioned person in Wallingford would have
joined the church.
Unfortunately for me in my
troubles, those two were not truly representative in their respective
classes. There was a heap of good and considerable bad both within and
without the membership of our Wallingford churches.
While Judge Hutton's faith had
never, to my knowledge, been subjected to any such day in and day out
strain as old Mrs. Page's faith was, he seemed to have a sustaining
philosophy which served him well during the emergencies of life. The Judge
was one of a considerable number of good folks in Wallingford who
supported the church but never became members. None seemed to care to
discuss their reasons for not entering the fellowship of the church and I
surmise that it would have been difficult to get them into an argument on
that subject
As Fay Stafford and I grew older,
we were frequently called upon to act as pallbearers at the funerals of
infants and young children, the prevalent idea being that it was
appropriate that the young bury the young. Possibly the grief of bereaved
parents was softened somewhat by the presence of children.
We boys took the task seriously,
and in one case we showed our appreciation of the kindness of Mr. John D.
Miller, a bereaved father, who had lent us books to read and who always
greeted us with hearty and familiar salutations, by cutting evergreen
twigs and branches from the mountain frees and lining the sides and bottom
of the dark grave so that it would not look so cold, cruel and forbidding
when the body of his only son was let down to its final resting place in
the frozen soil of the village cemetery.
One after the other, I fell victim
to the ailments of childhood, mumps, measles and scarlet fever. We had
three old doctors in the village, although one younger man could have
taken care of all the cases. New England doctors belonged to one or the
other of two schools. They were either allopaths who prescribed big doses
or homeopaths who prescribed small doses.
To the "Homeops" the "Allopaths"
were queer; to the "Allopaths" the "Homeops" were ridiculous. To
administer a dose of medicine so small that it could be lifted on the
point of a penknife, was the practice of sorcery in the eyes of "Allopaths."
Once having selected one's school of medicine, it was customary to stick
to it, come weal, come woe. It was much like joining the church. "Once a
Baptist, always a Baptist" was frequently said, and, with equal truth, it
might be said, "Once an Allopath, always an Allopath."
We were definitely and incurably
allopath, and fortunately we had an allopath doctor right In the family,
Dr. George Fox of Rutland. Dr. George was the husband of Aunt Mellie, my
father's sister. Uncle George was called Doctor George to distinguish him
from his brother, Dr. Bill, who lived and practiced in Wallingford. Dr.
John, who died before my time, was the father of Doctors Bill and George,
and faithful old family doctors they all were. Dr. John was a son of
William Fox, a farmer who moved to Wallingford from Dorset.
William bought a farm bordering
upon a lovely sheet of water. Neither of the parties to the transaction
cared much about this sheet of water but it was eventually acquired by
William, the purchase price being a barrel of gin and for many years it
was known as Fox Pond. Lovers of the present Elfin Lake will be ready to
conclude that the purchase price was not excessive.
Doctors Bill and John did not
monopolize all of the practice in Wallingford. Dr. Hitt and Dr. Noble had
their shares. Dr. Bill, Dr. Hitt and Dr. Noble, each weighed well over two
hundred pounds and their buck-boards were bent nearly double at times
bouncing over country roads.
We enjoyed a special feeling of
security in having a good doctor in the family. I was taken severely ill
one night. Suddenly the room I was in began to whirl around me. The next
thing I knew was that I found myself tucked into an improvised bed in the
sitting room, not far from the coal-burning stove. Uncle George was
sitting by my side and looking anxiously into my eyes. He had driven his
well known and faithful Billy over the snow covered road to minister to my
need. Uncle George and Billy were a faithful team and their beneficent
influence extended over the whole countryside. I am sure that Billy sensed
his responsibility, as he was always ready to have his harness put on
either night or day and to struggle through drifts of snow during the
fiercest of New England storms.
Uncle George's practice grew and
it soon became necessary to get another horse to help Billy out and it was
then that Fanny came. It took Billy some time to reconcile himself to the
presence of Fanny but they eventually became good friends and he always
whinnied her a welcome when he heard her coming into the driveway. In the
heyday of his practice, Uncle George kept a hostler to take care of the
horses and to accompany him on night drives, but that did not continue
long.
To sick folks it was like
receiving a bill of health to see bay Billy or brown Fanny turn into their
yards with grey beaded Doctor George holding the lines. Calls on members
of our family were, of course, without charge but that meant nothing to
Uncle George. Some uncles with children of their own to make provision
for, might have viewed with disfavor my intrusion into the home of their
well-to-do father-in-law, but not so Uncle George. Never once did he
either directly or indirectly manifest disapproval of my addition to
grandfather's family.
Under Uncle George's skillful and
devoted attention, I was soon on my feet. Successive ailments brought me
down considerably as I had never been a robust child, but the perfect
regulation of affairs in my adopted home, went far toward making amends
for a rather poor start in life.
I was destined to learn more of
Billy in later years. While visiting in Rutland once in the winter, I had
an experience I shall never forget. It lingers in my memory because of the
opportunity afforded me of observing the good understanding between Uncle
George and Billy and Uncle George's dependence on Billy to carry him
through.
Uncle George received a telephone
call from a patient in Menden who was desperately ill. The call was
received rather late In the evening. While he was getting ready, he noted
my interest and to my joy, said, "Would you like to come along, Paul?"
The night was cold and dark so I
was provided with every safeguard to make certain that I would not
contract a cold. The fall of snow was light at first but increased rapidly
as we proceeded on our journey. The hot soapstones at our feet were
comforting and we wrapped the buffalo robes tightly about us. As we
approached the mountains the storm increased and it was difficult to see
far ahead. Billy was going along without urging and he needed none; he had
a job to do and he set about doing it. Not until we actually got into the
mountain road did the storm assume menacing proportions. I was sure that
Uncle George was worried although he tried not to betray it. We could see
nothing of the country road after we had turned from the highway; whether
we were in it or out of it was a matter of conjecture. Billy stopped of
his own accord to regain his wind and Uncle George stepped out of the
sleigh, waded through the snow to Billy's head and slipped the check rein
off to allow him the full use of all his forces. Billy seemed to
appreciate Uncle George's thoughtfulness and when Uncle George patted his
neck, he turned his head and affectionately snuggled his muzzle under
Uncle George's arm. How we got to a point where we could see the bright
lights of the house, I do not know but when we finally did get there, we
were met by a man with a lantern who directed our course to a protected
shed where Billy was blanketed and fed.
After Uncle George had
performed his professional duties and spoken words of encouragement to
both man and wife, we backed Billy out of the shed and started our trip
back home. When the time seemed suitable, I inquired of Uncle George how
he had managed to find his way along the country road, and he answered, "I
didn't find it, Paul. I couldn't see a thing no more than you could. That
was one of the times when I have to leave everything to Billy. I have put
him into a good many tight places but he has never yet failed to pull me
through. Billy is all heart. That's why I chose him for this job. He is not so
strong as Fanny but he throws everything he has into his work. Yes, Billy
is all heart.” After that night what could I do but give Billy a
place in my affections second only to our Buttercup.
