The Man That Killed His Neighbours

It is curious to observe how a person's inner state shows itself in the people and animals around him, and even in his clothes, his trees, and his stones.

Reuben Black was a curse to the neighborhood where he lived.

The very sight of him produced effects like the magical tune of India, called Raug, which is said to bring on clouds, storms, and earthquakes. His wife looked thin, sharp, and uncomfortable. His boys had a bristling appearance, as if each hair on their heads stood on end from constant fear. The cows stuck their horns out sideways as soon as he opened the barnyard gate. The dog dropped his tail between his legs and watched him out of the corner of his eye, trying to guess his mood. The cat looked wild and scrawny, and had been known to dash straight up the chimney when he moved toward her. The famous actress Fanny Kemble's description of the Pennsylvania stage-horses fit Reuben's poor old nag exactly: "His hide resembled an old hair-trunk." Continual whipping and kicking had made the horse such a stoic that no amount of blows could speed him up, and no kind whistle could lift his dejected head.

In every way a horse can, he said plainly that he was a most unhappy creature. Even the trees on Reuben's property looked gnarled and knotted. The bark wept small, sickly tears of gum, and the branches grew crooked, as if they felt the constant discord and made sad faces at each other behind their owner's back. His fields were red with sorrel or overgrown with mullein. Everything seemed as hard and dry as his own face. Every day he cursed the town and the neighborhood because they poisoned his dogs, stoned his hens, and shot his cats. Continual lawsuits cost him so much money and time that he had neither to spend on improving his farm.

Against Joe Smith, a poor laborer in the neighborhood, he had brought three lawsuits in a row. Joe said he had returned a spade he borrowed, and Reuben swore he had not. He sued Joe and won damages, and ordered the sheriff to seize Joe's pig. Joe, in his anger, called him an old swindler and a curse to the neighborhood. These remarks were soon repeated to Reuben. He brought a lawsuit for slander and won twenty-five cents. Angry at the laugh this caused, he watched for Joe to pass by, then set his big dog on him, yelling furiously, "Call me an old swindler again, will you?" An evil spirit is more contagious than the plague. Joe went home and scolded his wife, boxed little Joe's ears, and kicked the cat; and none of them knew why. A fortnight later, Reuben's big dog was found dead, poisoned.

Whereupon he brought another lawsuit against Joe Smith, and when he could not prove Joe guilty of dog-murder, he took revenge by poisoning a pet lamb belonging to Mrs. Smith. So the bad game went on, with mutual worry and loss. Joe's temper grew more and more vengeful, and his habit of drinking and talking about his troubles at the tavern increased. Poor Mrs. Smith cried and said it was all Reuben Black's fault, for a better-hearted man than her Joe had never lived when she first married him.

Such was the state of things when Simeon Green bought the farm next to Reuben's. The property had been much neglected and had caught thistles and mullein from the neighboring fields. But Simeon was a hardworking man, blessed by nature with a healthy body and a cheerful disposition, and a wise and kind upbringing had helped nature perfect its good work. His careful industry soon changed the face of the farm. River mud, autumn leaves, old shoes, and old bones were all put to use to create usefulness and beauty. The trees, with their branches pruned and bark cleaned of moss and insects, soon looked healthy and strong. Fields of grain waved where weeds had once grown wild. Persian lilacs bowed gracefully over the simple gate. Michigan roses covered half the house with their abundant clusters. Even the rough rock that served as a doorstep was edged with golden moss.

The sleek horse, feeding in clover, tossed his mane and neighed when his master came near, as if to say, "The world is all the pleasanter for having you in it, Simeon Green!" The old cow, fondling her calf under the great walnut tree, walked up to him with a serious, friendly face, asking for the slice of sugar beet he usually gave her. The rooster, strutting about with his troop of plump hens and downy chicks, did not bother to get out of his way, but flapped his glossy wings and crowed a welcome right in his face. When Simeon turned toward home, the boys threw their caps in the air and ran out shouting, "Father's coming!" and little Mary came toddling up to him with a dandelion blossom to put in his buttonhole. His wife was a woman of few words, but she sometimes said to her neighbors, with quiet satisfaction, "Everybody who knows my husband loves him. They can't help it."

Simeon Green's acquaintances knew he had never been involved in a lawsuit in his life, but they predicted he would find it impossible to avoid one now. They told him his next-door neighbor was determined to quarrel with people, whether they liked it or not; that he was like John Lilburne, of whom Judge Jenkins said, "If the world was emptied of everyone but himself, Lilburne would still quarrel with John, and John with Lilburne."

"Is that his character?" said Simeon, in his smiling way. "If he exercises it on me, I will soon kill him."

In every neighborhood there are people who like to stir up disputes, not from any definite intention to cause harm, but merely because it makes a little ripple of excitement in the dull stream of life, like a fight between dogs or gamecocks. Such people were quick to repeat Simeon Green's remark about his quarrelsome neighbor. "Kill me, will he?" exclaimed Reuben. He said no more, but his tightly pressed lips had such a dangerous look that his dog gave him a wide berth, as if he were a tiger's track. That very night, Reuben turned his horse into the highway, hoping it would do some damage on neighbor Green's land. But Joe Smith, seeing the animal loose, let down the bars of Reuben's own cornfield, and the poor beast walked in and feasted as it had not done for many a year. Reuben would have been very glad if he could have sued his horse, but as it was, he had to be content with beating it.

His next trick was to shoot Mary Green's handsome rooster, because it stood on the stone wall and crowed, in the innocent joy of its heart, two inches beyond the boundary line between the farms. Simeon said he was sorry for the poor bird, and sorry because his wife and children liked the pretty creature; but otherwise it was no great matter. He had been planning to build a poultry yard with a good high fence so his hens would not annoy the neighbors, and now he was prompted to hurry and do it. He would build them a snug, warm house to roost in; they would have plenty of gravel and oats, a place to stroll back and forth, and crow and cackle to their heart's content; there they could enjoy themselves and be out of harm's way.

But Reuben Black had a kind of cleverness and persistence that might have produced great results for humanity, had it been used for a more noble purpose than picking quarrels. A pear tree in his garden very improperly stretched a friendly branch into Simeon Green's land. Whether the sunny conditions there had a cheering effect on the tree, I do not know; but it happened that this overhanging branch bore more fruit and glowed with a richer color than the other branches. One day, little George Green, as he went whistling along, picked up a pear that had fallen into his father's garden. The moment he touched it, he felt something on the back of his neck, like the sting of a wasp.

It was Reuben Black's whip, followed by such a storm of angry words that the poor child rushed into the house in a panic. But this trick also failed. The boy was comforted by his mother and told not to go near the pear tree again, and that was the end of it.

This unshakeable good nature upset Reuben more than all the tricks and insults he received from others. He could understand evil deeds and repay them with interest, but he did not know what to make of this constant patience. It seemed to him there must be something contemptuous in it. He disliked Simeon Green more than everyone else in town put together, because Green made him feel so uncomfortably in the wrong and gave him no reason to complain. It was annoying to see everything on his neighbor's land looking so happy, in such bright contrast to the dreariness of his own. When their wagons passed each other on the road, it seemed as if Simeon's horse tossed his head higher and flung out his mane, as if he knew he was passing Reuben Black's old nag. He often said he supposed Green covered his house with roses and honeysuckles just to shame his bare walls. But he did not care--not he!

He was not going to be fool enough to rot his boards with such stuff. But no one resented his harsh comments or tried to provoke him. The roses smiled, the horse neighed, and the calf frolicked, but none of them had the slightest idea they were insulting Reuben Black. Even the dog had no malice in its heart, even though one night it chased Reuben's geese home and barked at them through the fence. Reuben told its master the next day, swearing he would bring a lawsuit if the dog were not kept at home. Simeon answered very quietly that he would try to take better care of it. For several days a close watch was kept, hoping the dog would worry the geese again, but the geese marched home undisturbed, and not a single bark gave an excuse for a lawsuit.

The new neighbors not only refused to quarrel, but they also made positive efforts to be friendly. Simeon's wife sent Mrs. Black a large basket of very fine cherries. Pleased by the unexpected attention, she replied warmly, "Tell your mother it was very kind of her, and I am very much obliged to her." Reuben, who sat smoking in the chimney corner, listened to this message the first time without showing impatience, except for puffing his pipe a little faster and more fiercely than usual. But when the boy was going out the door, and the friendly words were repeated, he burst out, "Don't make a fool of yourself, Peg. They want to hint that we should send a basket of our pears; that's the whole point. You may send them a basket when they are ripe, for I refuse to be in anyone's debt, especially to your smooth-tongued folk."

Poor Peggy, whose arid life had been briefly refreshed by a little dew of kindness, let suspicion into her heart, and the glow around the ripe, shining cherries faded.

Not long after this step toward friendship, some laborers employed by Simeon Green were crossing a marshy piece of ground with a heavy team and got stuck in a bog caused by long-continued rain. The poor oxen could not free themselves, and Simeon asked his prickly neighbor, who was working nearby, for help. Reuben answered gruffly, "I have enough to do to mind my own business." When Simeon politely asked if he could borrow his oxen and chains for a few minutes, Reuben gave the same surly answer, and Simeon walked off without a word to find a more obliging neighbor.

The men left waiting with the patient, suffering oxen grumbled about Reuben's ill nature and said they hoped he would get stuck in the same bog himself. Their employer replied, "If he does, we will do our duty and help him out."

"There is such a thing as being too good-natured," they said. "If Reuben Black thinks people are afraid of him, he'll trample on them worse than ever."

"Oh, wait a while," replied Mr. Green, smiling. "I will kill him before long. You'll see if I don't kill him."

It happened soon after that Reuben's team got stuck in the same bog, just as the men had wished. Simeon saw it from a nearby field and gave orders to take the oxen and chains to help him right away. The men laughed, shook their heads, and said it was good enough for the old hornet. But they went ahead and did as their employer asked. "You're in a bad spot, neighbor," said Simeon as he came alongside the stuck team. "But my men are coming with two yoke of oxen, and I think we'll soon manage to pull you out."

"You can take your oxen back," replied Reuben. "I don't want your help."

In a very friendly tone, Simeon answered, "I can't do that, for evening is coming on and you have little time to lose. It's a bad job any time, but it will be worse in the dark."

"Light or dark, I didn't ask for your help," Reuben said firmly. "I wouldn't help you out the other day when you asked me."

"The trouble I had freeing my poor oxen makes me feel for others in the same fix," answered Simeon. "Let's not waste words, neighbor. I can't go home and leave you here in the bog with night coming."

The team was soon pulled out, and Simeon and his men left without waiting for thanks. When Reuben got home that night, he was unusually silent and thoughtful. After smoking a while, deep in thought, he tapped the ashes from his pipe and said with a sigh, "Peg, Simeon Green has killed me."

"What do you mean?" said his wife, dropping her knitting in surprise.

"You remember when he first came here, he said he'd kill me," Reuben replied. "And he's done it. The other day he asked me to help pull his team out of the bog, and I told him I had enough to do to mind my own business. Today my team got stuck in that same bog, and he came with two yoke of oxen to pull it out. I felt ashamed to have him help me, so I told him I didn't want any of his help. But he answered, just as pleasant as if nothing mean had ever happened, that night was coming on and he wasn't willing to leave me there in the mud."

"That was very good of him," said Peggy.

"He's a pleasant-spoken man and always has a kind word for the boys. His wife seems a nice, neighborly soul, too."

Reuben said nothing, but after thinking a while, he remarked, "Peg, you know that big ripe melon at the bottom of the garden? You may as well take it over there in the morning." His wife said she would, without asking where "over there" was.

But when morning came, Reuben paced back and forth, around and around, with the kind of aimless activity you see in hens or in fashionable idlers who feel restless and don't know what to chase. At last, the reason for his nervous movements became clear when he said, as a question, "I guess I may as well carry the melon myself, and thank him for the use of his oxen? In my rush down there in the marsh, I didn't think to say I was obliged to him."

He marched off toward the garden, and his wife stood at the door, one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes from the sun, to see if he really would carry the melon into Simeon Green's house. It was the most remarkable thing that had happened since her wedding. She could hardly believe her eyes. He walked quickly, as if afraid he might not have the nerve to carry out this unusual impulse if he stopped to think. When he found himself in Mr. Green's house, he felt very awkward and hurried to say, "Mrs. Green, here is a melon my wife sent you, and we think it's ripe." Without showing any surprise at this unexpected politeness, the friendly woman thanked him and asked him to sit down. But he stood fiddling with the door latch, and without looking up said, "Is Mr. Green at home this morning?"

"He's at the pump and will be in directly," she said, and before she finished, the honest man walked in, his face as fresh and bright as a June morning. He went straight up to Reuben, shook his hand warmly, and said, "Glad to see you, neighbor. Take a seat. Take a seat."

"Thank you, I can't stay," Reuben replied.

He pushed his hat to one side, scratched his head, looked out the window, and then blurted out as if by a great effort, "The fact is, Mr. Green, I didn't act right about the oxen."

"Never mind, never mind," said Mr. Green. "Maybe I'll get stuck in that bog again one of these rainy days. If I do, I'll know who to call on."

"You see," said Reuben, still very embarrassed and avoiding Simeon's calm, clear eye, "the neighbors around here are very nasty. If I'd always had neighbors like you, I wouldn't be the man I am."

"Ah, well, we must try to be to others what we want them to be to us," replied Simeon. "You know the good book says so. I've learned from experience that if we speak kind words, we hear kind echoes. If we try to make others happy, it makes them want to make us happy. Maybe you and I can turn the neighborhood around, in time. Who knows? Let's try, Mr. Black! Let's try! But come and look at my orchard. I want to show you a tree I've grafted with some very choice apples. If you like, I'll get you some cuttings from the same stock."

They went into the orchard together, and friendly talk soon put Reuben at ease. When he got home, he said nothing about his visit, for he could not yet admit to his wife that he had confessed he was wrong. A gun stood behind the kitchen door, ready to shoot Mr. Green's dog for barking at his horse. He now fired the load into the air and put the gun away in the barn. From that day on, he never looked for a reason to quarrel with the dog or its master. Shortly after, Joe Smith, to his total amazement, saw him pat the dog on the head and heard him say, "Good fellow!"

Simeon Green was too generous to tell anyone that his quarrelsome neighbor had admitted he was wrong. He simply smiled and said to his wife, "I thought we would kill him after a while."

Joe Smith did not believe in such ideas. When he heard about the adventure in the marsh, he said, "Sim Green is a fool. When he first came here, he talked big about killing folks if they didn't mind their p's and q's. But he doesn't show more spirit than a worm, and a worm will turn when it's stepped on."

Poor Joe had become more intemperate and more quarrelsome, until no one would hire him. About a year after the memorable watermelon incident, someone stole several valuable hides from Mr. Green. He told no one but his wife, and they both had their suspicions that Joe was the thief. The next week, this anonymous advertisement appeared in the county newspaper:

"Whoever stole a load of hides on Friday night, the 5th of this month, is hereby informed that the owner sincerely wishes to be his friend. If poverty tempted him to this wrong step, the owner will keep the whole matter secret and will gladly help him earn money in a way more likely to bring him peace of mind."

This unusual ad, of course, caused a lot of talk. People debated whether the thief would take up the friendly offer. Some said he would be a fool to do so, for it was clearly a trap. But the one who had done the deed alone knew where such kindness came from, and he knew Simeon Green was not a man to set traps for his fellow creatures.

A few nights later, just as the family was getting ready for bed, a timid knock came at Simeon's door.

When he opened it, Joe Smith stood on the step, carrying the hides on his shoulder. Without looking up, he said in a low, humble voice, "I brought them back, Mr. Green. Where shall I put them?"

"Wait a minute till I get a lantern, and I'll go to the barn with you," he said. "Then you'll come in and tell me how it happened. We'll see what can be done for you."

Mrs. Green knew Joe often went hungry and had gotten used to the kick of rum. So she hurried to make hot coffee and brought out cold meat and a pie from the cupboard.

When they returned from the barn, she said, "I thought you might feel better for a little warm supper, neighbor Smith." Joe turned his back to her and said nothing. He leaned his head against the chimney, and after a moment of silence, he said in a choked voice, "It was the first time I ever stole anything, and I've felt terrible about it. I don't know how it happened.

I never thought I'd come to this. But I started quarreling, then drinking. Since I began to go downhill, everyone gives me a kick. You're the first man to offer me a hand. My wife is weak, and my kids are starving. You've sent them many a meal, God bless you!--and yet I stole your hides, meaning to sell them as soon as I could. But I swear, Mr. Green, this is the first time I ever truly deserved to be called a thief."

"Let it be the last, my friend," said Simeon, pressing his hand kindly. "The secret will stay between us. You're young and can make up for lost time. Now, give me your promise that you won't touch a drop of liquor for a year, and I'll hire you tomorrow at good wages. Mary will go to see your family early in the morning, and maybe we can find work for them too. The little boy can at least pick stones. But eat a little now and drink some hot coffee. It will keep you from wanting something stronger tonight. You'll find it hard to stop at first, Joseph, but keep a brave heart for your wife and children, and soon it will get easier. When you need coffee, tell my Mary, and she'll always give you some."

Joe tried to eat and drink, but the food seemed to stick in his throat. He was nervous and upset. After failing to calm himself, he put his head on the table and wept like a child.

After a while, Simeon persuaded him to wash his face in cold water, and then he ate and drank with a good appetite. When he left, the kind host said, "Try to do well, Joseph, and you'll always find a friend in me."

The poor fellow pressed his hand and replied, "Now I understand how you kill bad neighbors."

The next day Joe entered Mr. Green's service and stayed there for many years, an honest and faithful man.