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And now, my dear children, having followed Sir William Phips through all his adventures and hardships, till we find him comfortably seated in Grandfather’s chair, we will here bid him farewell. May he be as happy in ruling a people, as he was while he tended sheep!"
The church starost, it is true, said that they had died of the pest in his second year; but my grandfather’s aunt would not hear to that, and tried with all her might to furnish him with parents, although poor Peter needed them about as much as we need last year’s snow.
Recovering himself, he took his grandfather’s hunting-whip from the wall, and was about to belabour Peter’s back with it, when Pidórka’s little six-year-old brother Ivas rushed up from somewhere or other, and, grasping his father’s legs with his little hands, screamed out, “Daddy, daddy! don’t beat Petrus!” What was to be done? A father’s heart is not made of stone.
Dreary, chill November was howling, out of doors, and vexing the atmosphere with sudden showers of wintry rain, or sometimes with gusts of snow, that rattled like small pebbles against the windows. When the weather began to grow cool, Grandfather’s chair had been removed from the summer parlor into a smaller and snugger room. It now stood by the side of a bright blazing wood-fire.
This was probably the case when he came into possession of Grandfather’s chair; and, as he had worked so hard at the mint, it was certainly proper that he should have a comfortable chair to rest himself in. When the mint-master had grown very rich, a young man, Samuel Sewell by name, came a courting to his only daughter.
But Sir William Phips had not always worn a gold embroidered coat, nor always sat so much at his ease as he did in Grandfather’s chair. He was a poor man’s son, and was born in the province of Maine, where he used to tend sheep upon the hills, in his boyhood and youth. Until he had grown to be a man, he did not even know how to read and write.
"After the death of Mr. Johnson," said he, "Grandfather’s chair came into the possession of Roger Williams. He was a clergyman, who arrived at Salem, and settled there in 1631. Doubtless the good man has spent many a studious hour in this old chair, either penning a sermon, or reading some abstruse book of theology, till midnight came upon him unawares.
The young Cuzaks knew all about them. “He made grandfather’s coffin, did n’t he?” Anton asked. “Was n’t they good fellows, Jim?” Ántonia’s eyes filled. “To this day I’m ashamed because I quarreled with Jake that way. I was saucy and impertinent to him, Leo, like you are with people sometimes, and I wish somebody had made me behave.” “We are n’t through with you, yet,” they warned me.
Jake and Otto joined us from the basement and we sat about the stove, enjoying the deepening gray of the winter afternoon and the atmosphere of comfort and security in my grandfather’s house. This feeling seemed completely to take possession of Mr. Shimerda.
I will procure a consultation of physicians, and see whether this wondrous Inoculation may not stay the progress of the Destroyer." So he arose from Grandfather’s chair, and went out of the library. Near the door he met his son Samuel, who seemed downcast and out of spirits. The boy had heard, probably, that some of his playmates were taken ill with the small pox.
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