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Updated: June 24, 2025
"It seems that he had heard of the beauty of Sally Dunkelberg. But a bee had stung her nose just before he came and she was a sight to behold." The ladies laughed. "It's lucky," said Mrs. Wright. "Doesn't Horace Dunkelberg know about him?" "I suppose he does, but the man is money crazy." I couldn't help hearing it, for I was working in the room in which they talked.
If I chanced to meet Sally Dunkelberg I need not hide my head for shame as I had done that memorable Sunday. "Now may the Lord help ye to be careful awful, terrible careful o' them clothes every minute o' this day," Aunt Deel cautioned as she looked at me. "Don't git no horse sweat nor wagon grease on 'em." To Aunt Deel wagon grease was the worst enemy of a happy and respectable home.
I never had more of it come along in the same length of time. One day in the spring when the frogs were chanting in the swamp land, they seemed to be saying, "Dunkelberg, Dunkelberg, Dunkelberg, Dunkelberg," from morning to bedtime. I was helping Uncle Peabody to fix the fence when he said: "Hand me that stake, Bub. Don't be so much of a gentleman."
They did not interest me, and probably because I had seen the lightness and grace and beauty of Sally Dunkelberg and tasted the sweetness of her fancies. There were the singing and spelling schools and the lyceums, but those nights were few and far between. Not more than four or five in the whole winter were we out of the joyful candle-light of our own home.
While I sat listening I felt a tweak of my hair, and looking around I saw the Dunkelberg girl standing behind me with a saucy smile on her face. "Won't you come and play with me?" she asked. I took her out in the garden to show her where my watermelon had lain. At the moment I couldn't think of anything else to show her.
Horace Dunkelberg in the aisle, who said that they would wait for us outside the church. I remember that Mr. Wright kissed me and said: "Hello! Here's my boy in a new pair o' trousers!" "Put yer hand in there," I said proudly, as I took my own out of one of my pockets, and pointed the way. He did not accept the invitation, but laughed heartily and gave me a little hug.
He had sent me a letter which contained the welcome information that the day he left the stage at Canton, he had seen Miss Dunkelberg on the street. "She was lookin' top-notch stop't and spoke to me," he went on. "You cood a nocked me down with a fether I was that scairt.
"I promised to spend the morning in the field with Mr. Wright, if I may have your consent, sir," I said. "Then we shall console ourselves, knowing that you are in better company," said Mr. Hacket. Mr. Dunkelberg called at the house in Ashery Lane to see me after breakfast. "Bart, if you will come with me I should like to order some store clothes and boots for you," he said in his squeaky voice.
Dunkelberg had throat trouble, and bought butter and cheese and sent it to Boston, and had busted his voice singing tenor, and was very rich. I knew that he was rich because he had a gold watch and chain, and clothes as soft and clean as the butternut trousers, and a silver ring on his finger, and such a big round stomach.
I remember that my aunts rallied me on my supposed liking for "that Dunkelberg girl." "Now for the Chris'mas tree," said Uncle Peabody as he led the way into our best room, where a fire was burning in the old Franklin grate. "Come on, boys an' girls." What a wonderful sight was the Christmas tree the first we had had in our house a fine spreading balsam loaded with presents!
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