Kitabı oku: «Jessica, the Heiress», sayfa 6
“Well, there used to be three keys to this concern. One the mistress has; one the postmaster keeps at the office; and the other was Antonio’s, since he always was wanting to open and put something extra in the bag after Mrs. Trent had done with it. I never liked the look of that, and it’s my opinion that it’s the very key has unlocked this bag, if unlocked it’s been. Which is more’n likely.”
Cromarty’s head was again beginning to grow dizzy, and he sat again upon the rock to recover himself, making no answer to Ephraim’s words than the exclamation:
“How am I going to get that bag to post in time?”
CHAPTER XI.
THE PASSING OF OLD CENTURY
Jessica and her escort, John Benton, rode swiftly up the canyon trail and over the brow of the mesa toward the shepherd’s cabin; but they had not proceeded far along the upland before a sense of the strangeness of things oppressed them both.
John’s keen eye detected the neglect of the sheep, which were still huddled in the corral, though long past their hour for pasturage; while their bleating expressed hunger as well as dislike of their unusual imprisonment. But Jessica saw first the abject attitude of the collie, Keno, who came reluctantly to greet them with down-hanging head and tail and a reproachful upward glance of his brown eyes.
“Why, you poor doggie! What’s happened you? You look as if you’d been beaten. Where’s your master, good Keno? Keno, where’s Pedro?”
The Indian was nowhere visible, and as if he fully understood the question, the collie answered by a long, lugubrious whine.
“Something’s wrong. That’s as plain as preachin’!” cried John, and hurried to the little house, whose door stood open, but about which there was no sign of life.
He had tossed his bridle to the captain, meaning that if aught were amiss within she should be detained for the present by holding the horses. However, she saw through this ruse, and, leaping from Buster, swiftly hobbled both animals and ran after the carpenter.
Keno kept close at her heels, the very presentment of canine misery, and uttering at every few steps that doleful whine which was so unusual to him. But, arrived at the cabin, he left her and with one bound had reached the Indian’s side, where he still sat beside his window, his head against its casing and his blanket–Jessica’s gift–closely wrapped about him. He did not move when they entered, nor respond even by objection to the collie’s frantic blandishments, but John raised his hand for silence, as she stood sorrowfully gazing downward upon the face of death.
Yes, it was that. He had more than rounded his century of years, he had lived uprightly, as the good padres had taught; he had bestowed upon those he loved the secret of great wealth, and he had gone to keep his precious Navidad in the home of eternal youth.
Jessica comprehended the truth at once, and her eyes filled with the tears which, as yet, did not overflow; for as she gazed upon the sleeper’s face it filled her with amazement and something akin to delight; and at last she exclaimed:
“Why, how young and glad he looks! He’s even nobler than he was when he rode away from me last night, and I’d never seen him so dignified and grand as he was then. It’s–it’s as if he had done with everything is hard, like worries, and evil, and loneliness, and–all.”
“Ay, lassie; he has done with all–that you or I know aught about; and every inch a man he seems as he sits there in the majesty of death.”
By then the child’s tears had begun to flow, and she caught up Pedro’s hand with an outburst of grief and love.
“Poor, poor Pedro! To have been here all alone when it came! What shall I do without him who was always so good, so good to me? Oh, I can’t have it so, John! I can’t, I can’t!”
He was wise enough to attempt no consolation, knowing well how small a part of her life the venerable Indian had been and how easily youth accustoms itself to such a loss. But, after he had allowed her to sob for a time, he gently touched her shoulder, and said:
“Come. Pedro has finished his work and has passed it on to us. Those poor sheep must be cared for, and somebody must ride home at once; or, rather, should ride at once to Marion to make the necessary arrangements. I wish–” And he paused in perplexity, regarding her as if in doubt what was best to be done.
They left the cottage with that quiet tread which seems natural in the presence of those whom no sound can trouble, and, hand in hand, walked sadly to the fold, where the penned sheep greeted them with eager cries and restless movements.
“Pedro used to say they talked and he knew what they said. I begin to believe he did, for, listen! This sound isn’t like that other first one, which told us they were hungry. This says: ‘I’m glad you’ve come!’ Doesn’t it?”
“So it sounds to me, lassie; and I, too, am glad we came. It’s queer, though, how set you were on it, even against the mistress’ wish that you should wait.”
“Yes, John, I had to come. I just had to. And this is what I think: When we’ve taken care of the sheep, we’ll lay Pedro on his bed and lock the door. Keno will keep guard, if we tell him; though whoever comes here, anyway? Then you must ride to Marion to see about–about”–here, for a moment, grief interrupted her again, but she suppressed her tears as soon as possible and went on quite calmly–“about what always has to be at such a time. I remember–I remember it all when my father–No, no, John, I’m not going to cry again. I won’t make bad worse, never, if I can help it. But this I say: You ride to Marion and send word to the mission so that a priest may come; and do all the rest. I will ride home and the boys will come up and fetch him to Sobrante. It must be in the little old chapel that we never use, because my father said he would not put to a common service a room that had once been given to God. Pedro always loved it. It was there he used to say his ‘devotions’ and there he must lie–in state–isn’t that what they call it when great folks die? Pedro was great. He had lived so very long and he had always been so devout. What do you say?”
“What do I say, little captain, but that you’ve a long head on your young shoulders, and I’m sorry this load of grief had to rest on it so early. More than that; I undertook to be your guardeen to-day, and I’ve no notion of shirking the job–even now. I passed my word to the ‘admiral’ that I’d fetch you home safe, and so I will. It won’t take much longer and it’s right. Home first, and Marion afterward.”
“Well, maybe, that is best; and surely it is pleasantest. I didn’t want to be selfish, but I’d rather you stayed with me. Are you ready? Shall we leave him just as he is?”
“Just so. We’ll close the window and the door, and then–home.”
But it was with widely different feelings that they cantered down the canyon from those with which they had ridden up it, and when she saw them returning so soon and so swiftly, Mrs. Trent went out to meet them, saying nothing, indeed, yet asking the question with her eyes:
“What trouble now?”
Then John told their story speedily and suggested that some of the men ride to the mesa and attend to what was needful. Also, repeated Jessica’s opinion about the chapel, with which the lady instantly agreed; then, clasping her daughter’s hand very close, returned with her to the porch and began to fold away her sewing.
But both Aunt Sally, when she came and heard the news, and the little girl asked:
“Why do you put it away, mother, dear? If Pedro is happy now, as we believe, why shouldn’t we be, too? All the rest must have their holiday, and I think–I think he’d like to have me look nice. He always did.”
“Jessie is right, Gabriell’. Things do happen terrible upsettin’ lately, seems to me; but by the time you and me get to be a hundred odd, I reckon we shan’t care a mite whether folks wear red and white dresses or horrid humbly ones. I’m goin’ on just the same as ever, for that’s the only way I’ll ever keep my common senses in this spooky place. I knew when they two started off, left hoof foremost, they was ridin’, to trouble; and this morning my hen chicken crowed to beat any rooster I ever heard, and that’s a sure sign of death.”
“Aunt Sally, don’t!” protested Mrs. Trent, glancing anxiously at her daughter’s face. But she need not have feared; for the child smiled back upon her, serene and happy, despite the traces of tears that still marked her bright eyes.
“It’s all right, mother, dear; and I’m thinking how glad Pedro must be now, to have found all those he’d so long outlived. He just went to sleep, you see, alone, and waked up with them around him. I think it was beautiful–beautiful; and his last deed was to find me and to tell you how you could grow rich if you want to. Where are the little boys, I wonder?”
They presently appeared, in wild excitement, having been at the men’s quarters when John rode thither to impart his news and directions; yet in this excitement was not a vestige of grief. They seemed to feel relieved of some dread, and Ned more than once punched Luis, whispering shrilly enough for all to hear:
“We can do it now, and not get caught! Yes, siree! We can do it now! Don’t you tell!”
And Luis responded by an ecstatic hug and the customary echo:
“Do it now; don’t you tell! Yes, siree!”
John Benton had nearly covered the distance to Marion, when he perceived two men slowly advancing toward him along the level road. For a moment, engrossed by thoughts of recent happenings, he paid slight attention to the fact, though idly wondering what strangers might be having business, and on foot, with Sobrante, at which point the road ended. But, as he drew nearer to them, something familiar in the bearing of the taller man, and startling in the appearance of the other, caused him to shield his eyes from the sunshine and peer critically into the distance. Then he slapped his thigh so excitedly that his horse suddenly stopped, reared and nearly unseated him.
“Oh, you idiot! Can’t a feller slap himself without your takin’ it to heart? If I ain’t a blind man, and maybe I am, that’s old ‘Forty-niner’ hoofing himself home, and–Whew! That’s Marty, limpin’ and leanin’ alongside. Well, I ’low! More trouble and plenty of it. Seems if all creation was just a-happenin’ our way, blamed if it don’t. Giddap there, Moses!”
In a few minutes he had reached the pedestrians and saluted them with unfeigned astonishment, and Ephraim with great friendliness of expression, but also the question:
“What fresh calamities you two fetchin’, now?”
They told him, as briefly as possible, and he found his own perplexity increased as he demanded:
“What in creation is to be done? Here’s Pedro gone and died in the most unhandy place and time; and here be you two, with not a decent leg between you, twenty miles from home, and one horse for the three of us!”
At the word “horse” poor Marty winced, as from a personal blow, while both he and Ephraim were greatly amazed at the news of the shepherd’s death. They began to feel, as John had said, that “nothing save disaster was meant for Sobrante folks;” yet, after a moment, “Forty-niner” perceived another side of the matter, and expressed himself thus:
“What’s got into the pack of us? Seems if we’d lost our gumption. After all, couldn’t anything have happened likelier, so far forth as I see. John Benton, you light off Moses and help this man into your saddle. He’ll ride home and I’ll walk alongside, whilst you tramp on to Marion. There’s a mare there, named Jean. She was offered to me, but I was in a hurry and didn’t accept. However, the offer is due to hold good for any of our folks. Light, I tell you. Marty’s about played out.”
Indeed, the respite came none too soon. The worst injury the gardener had sustained was, apparently, of the head, and a terrible dizziness rendered his progress on foot almost impossible. He would not have been able to accomplish this much of the journey, save for the continual help of Ephraim, who was himself burdened with the heavy pack and unwilling to relinquish it.
John stepped down and swung his fellow ranchman up to Moses’ back; then placed the bundle before the rider, turned the animal’s head toward Sobrante, and chirruped:
“Giddap! Home’s the word!”
Moses needed no second urging, but was off at a gallop, leaving the others to discuss the situation a bit further, and Ephraim to follow at his leisure.
There was little more to be said, however, and soon each was pursuing diverging routes and each at his swiftest pace.
At Marion, John had the mail pouch unlocked and examined, and was satisfied that some letters had been tampered with. These contained orders for house supplies and had been accompanied by checks, as was evident from the wording of the orders. The checks had been removed, and this fact proved to the carpenter that the hand of Antonio Bernal was in the matter, because the late manager might indorse them without arousing the bank’s suspicion, as nobody else could.
Yet there was one thing he did not mention, even to the postmaster; and that was the package which Jessica’s letter to Ninian Sharp had spoken of. This had disappeared entirely. The fact troubled him more than the loss of the checks, for he could stop the payment of these, but whether the little captain had sent the whole of their only specimen of the copper to her city friend or not was a serious question.
However, he did what he could; and almost for the first time in his life used the telegraph as well as the post. To pay for his long and rather ambiguous messages he borrowed money of the mystified Aleck McLeod; and the local operator found himself busier than he had ever been since the establishment of the office.
The other sad business that had brought him to the town was also transacted; and by the time all was arranged John was very glad to avail himself of Jean’s services, slow though she was. Upon her sedate back he arrived at Sobrante, just as the sun was setting, and found that the household had temporarily forgotten their grief for Pedro in their rejoicing over Ephraim.
“It’s an up and a down in this world,” quoth Aunt Sally, spreading and admiring the brilliant bits of calico which “Forty-niner” had given her. “Life ain’t all catnip anyway you stew it. Them that laugh in the morning gen’ally cry before night, and vicy-versy. But, Gabriella, do, for goodness’ sake, just fetch out that queer kind of stick that old Indian made a sort of graven image of and show it to Mr. Ma’sh. It’s a curiosity, being so old, if it ain’t no more. Worth cherishin’, anyhow, ’count of him that give it. I always did admire keepsakes of the departed.”
Mrs. Trent smiled, though sadly, and Jessica asked:
“May I get it, mother?”
“Surely. For safety I put it on the top of the tallest bookcase, behind the files of newspapers. You’ll likely have to take the little library ladder to reach it; and when you’ve shown it, put it back in exactly the same spot. It’s doubly valuable now, and could not be replaced.”
The little captain had scarcely once relinquished the hand of her beloved sharpshooter, since he appeared before them all, and now led him, as if he were another happy playmate, to the designated place. But when she had reached it, mounted the ladder and carefully felt all over the top of the case, even moving the files in order to examine it the better, she could not find the metal-pointed staff.
Standing on the floor beneath, Ephraim watched her face growing sober and disappointed, as she exclaimed:
“It’s gone! It’s completely gone!”
“It has, dearie? Well, maybe your mother forgot and put it somewhere else. The likeliest thing in the world to happen, with her mind so upset as it has been. We’ll go back and ask her. Don’t fret. Probably it wasn’t of much account, anyway.”
“Oh! but, dear Ephraim, it was! It could point the way to our big fortune that’s to be dug out of the ground!”
“What? What is that you say, child? Nonsense. We don’t live in the days of witchcraft, and that’s what such a performance would mean.”
Yet when they had returned to Mrs. Trent and related their misadventure he was startled by hearing that sensible woman tragically exclaim, in contradiction to his own assertion:
“Lost! Then Sobrante is certainly bewitched!”
CHAPTER XII.
THE REBELLION OF THE LADS
“Thank my stars, I haven’t lost my faculty of doing two things to once, nor seein’ a dozen!” cried Aunt Sally, as if in response to Mrs. Trent’s exclamation. Then she rose so hastily that her beloved “pieces” fell on the floor and her spectacles slid from the end of her nose, their habitual resting place. “There never was witches on this ranch before, and I reckon I can deal with a few of them that’s here now. Edward Trent, Luis Garcia! Where you goin’ at? Hey? Hear me? Come right straight back to me this minute, if you know what’s good for yourselves!”
All were surprised by this outburst and awaited its result with curiosity.
The two little boys had been suspiciously quiet on the farther end of that long porch where the household practically lived. Mrs. Trent had glanced their way, occasionally, but supposed them to be engrossed by the patent whistle and top which had been found in Ephraim’s pack, neatly marked with their respective names. Yet one could not eat tops nor whistles, and their elbows had been seen, from the rear, to move in a suggestive manner.
“They’re eatin’ somethin’ all this time. I wonder what!” had been Mrs. Benton’s private reflection. But when Jessica came back with her report of the lost wand, the elbow action had suddenly ceased; and, after what appeared to be a brief whispered consultation, they had slunk away down the path, Ned trying to help Luis hide something within his blouse, though not, apparently, succeeding.
At the sound of Aunt Sally’s voice, indeed, they dropped the box they had been secreting and burst into a paroxysm of giggling, as was their customary receipt of her chiding. The giggle was always destined to end in tears, but this never prevented its recurrence.
“Neddy Trent! If that bad little Garcia boy is doing wrong, it’s no need you should be naughty, too. Come back here and show poor auntie what you’ve got in your blouses.”
Wheedling had no more effect than scolding, for with one hug of each other’s necks, the children scampered onward, leaving their spoils behind them.
Then Jessica followed to see what this might be, and exclaimed, in some surprise:
“Candy! Where did it come from?”
Now, it happened that such sweets, except of homemade manufacture and on rare occasions, were forbidden the lads, because they were always made ill by them. That is, Luis suffered and Ned was not allowed anything his playmate could not share. All the ranchmen knew Mrs. Trent’s wishes on the subject and heretofore none had ever gone against them. Who had done it now?
Of course, suspicion instantly pointed to “Forty-niner,” who indignantly denied that he had brought, or even thought of bringing, anything home which his beloved mistress did not wish there.
“Doesn’t anybody trust me any more about anything?” he concluded, wistfully.
The accusation had come from Mrs. Benton, but Gabriella hastened to soothe the sharpshooter, saying:
“We’re making mountains out of mole hills, I fear. There, Aunt Sally, never mind. They have left so much behind them on the path that they can hardly have eaten enough to harm them, anyway. Let them go, please.”
But the good woman would not drop the subject. Her sharp eyes had not been given her for nothing, and her son always asserted that if his mother had been a man she would have made a first-class detective. Panting and puffing in her haste and curiosity, she hurried to the spilled confections and carefully picked them up; then returned to the porch, significantly holding forth, upon her palm, a specimen of what she had discovered.
“Needn’t tell me I didn’t smell peppymint! Them’s them peppymint rounds with chocolate outsides that I never seen nobody eat, on this ranch, ’cept Antonio Bernal. They ain’t kept in the store to Marion, and the storekeeper used to send for ’em to Los Angeles, ’specially for his one customer. I know, Antonio offered me some, time and again, on my other visits, but I always thanked him polite and said no. I never did lay out to eat a snake’s victuals, and that’s what his’n was.”
“Oh, what a woman you are, Aunt Sally!” laughed Ephraim.
“Thank you. I hope I be; enough of one, anyhow, to see through a millstone, when there’s a hole in it. But you’ve come back so peart and sassy, sharpshooter, I reckon I best go steep you a fresh dose of picra. After I’ve learnt all them tackers can tell.”
“Please, don’t be stern with them, Aunt Sally,” protested the mother. “Whatever they’ve done is but natural. It would be too much to expect them to refuse such a treat if it were offered them, and, maybe, John brought it to them.”
“John? My boy, John? After the raisin’ he had! Well, you’re on the wrong track there and I’m on the right one. Antonio Bernal, or some feller sneak of his, has been here at Sobrante, and you needn’t touch to tell me he hasn’t. Wait; I’ll find out now!” she ended, in triumph, and again the others were obliged to laugh, though Mrs. Trent’s brief mirth closed with a sigh, which Jessica heard and understood.
“Oh! don’t you fear, mother, dear. Aunt Sally wouldn’t hurt either of them, really; and, indeed, I don’t know who would keep them in order if she didn’t try. What mischief one can’t think of the other does, and I’ll run after her and see the thing out. Who knows but that they can tell us something about the missing staff?”
The runaways had made a detour by way of the kitchen, and adjoining the kitchen was the “cold closet,” which was the refuge they sought, and where already were stored some of the Christmas goodies. This closet had but one door and a securely shuttered window, and once the door was gained by the pursuer she would have the small miscreants in a trap. This she had seen and this it was which had given her that triumphant expression.
The captain also gained the pantry door just after it had closed behind Mrs. Benton and her prisoners, and to her repeated request to be admitted, received the enigmatical answer:
“Time enough when I’ve pumped these little cisterns dry.”
“Are the children in there with you?”
“Certain.”
“You won’t hurt them, will you? Please don’t punish them to-day. I can’t bear it.”
To which the grim jailer responded:
“You go along back to ‘Forty-niner,’ Jessie darlin, and be happy. We’re all mighty comfortable in here and lots of good victuals, if so be we get hungry. Plenty to drink, too, for I just brought in a crock of fresh water to cool my eggs in. I’ve got my knittin’ work and am as happy as an oyster. Go back, for I ain’t ready to talk yet. When I am I’ll come out and bring these naughty children with me.”
So Jessica returned to her old friend’s side; and in listening to his talk about the hospital and the friends she had made there for herself, as well as about Mr. Ninian Sharp and the lawyer, Morris Hale, the evening quickly passed and bedtime came.
When the ranch mistress rose to say good-night, she went to the still closed door of the closet, and asked:
“Aren’t you coming out now, Aunt Sally?”
The old lady opened the door and pointed complacently to a distant corner of the roomy apartment where, upon a pile of soft blankets that had been stored within, lay the two little boys, sound asleep and the picture of innocent comfort.
“There, Gabriella, you see they’re all right. I wouldn’t hurt a hair of their bonny heads, not for another ranch as fine as this one. But here them and me stay till I worm the truth out of ’em about that candy and that magic staff. Where that candy come from that there staff has gone. You hear me and believe me. Oh, I know what I know! Good-night. Don’t you worry. Me and them is all right, as I said, and my head’s level. I went to sleep a-watchin’ t’other time, but I shan’t this. There’s more in my mind than nonsense. This chair is as comfortable as a lounge. I slipped out and got it from the settin’-room when you all was talkin’ so lively, just now, and we’re fixed. I may come out before daylight and I may stay till doomsday; but come I shan’t a single step, not to please even you for whom I’d do and dare a good deal, and don’t you doubt it, but when my mind is sot it’s sot, and sot it is this minute, an don’t you dast to let on to John Benton, or that sassy boy’d plague the very life out of me, and you go right along to your own bed and take Jessie with you, and–”
But Mrs. Trent stayed to hear no more. When Aunt Sally got started on such a harangue as this, exhaustion of breath was her only limit. The lady did not anticipate more than an hour’s further imprisonment of the children, if so long, and was sure that they would be even tenderly cared for, no matter what their misdemeanors, if she did not herself interfere. Yet daylight came and found the odd trio still behind that closed door, and it opened only at breakfast time; when, leading two very penitent-looking small boys and herself wearing the air of a Roman conqueror, Mrs. Benton emerged from her seclusion upon an expectant household.
“Well, Aunt Sally, haven’t you ‘wormed’ them, as you promised? Poor little tackers! they’ve lost their pride and spirit, and I love them. Come to sister, darlings, and get your morning hugs!” cried Jessica, as they appeared. Ephraim, close at hand, winked at them solemnly and held up behind Mrs. Benton’s back two most alluring marbles. But they did not wink in response, nor give more than a furtive smile, as they reluctantly dragged along under their guardian’s forcible guidance. Her route was direct to the watering trough where, without ado, she promptly stripped, bathed and rubbed dry, each shivering little figure. Then she reclothed and led them back to the kitchen, placing them in high chairs beside the big deal table, while she proceeded to cook their oatmeal and serve it to them, with a bad-as-you-are-you-shan’t-starve sort of air which would have amused Jessica, had she not so heartily pitied her playmates.
After a time she could endure the sight no longer, but sped to Ned’s chair and clasped him fondly in her arms.
“What is the matter, brotherkin? Tell sister, do. Is it nothing but that miserable candy? What else have you done to make auntie so angry with you?”
Ned’s bosom heaved and a mighty sob burst forth. But he instantly repressed this sign of weakness, though unfortunately, not soon enough to prevent Luis from echoing it with redoubled intensity.
Now nothing so quickly restores the self-possession, even of grown-ups, as the sight of another’s collapse; and no sooner had Luis given vent to his emotion than Ned’s spirit returned to him. Throwing back his pretty head, with an air of unconquerable resolution, he reached forth and pounded his mate smartly on the back.
“You, Luis Garcia, what you crying for? Isn’t none of your staffs, anyway.”
“Ain’t my old staffs, ain’t,” sobbed the “echo,” for such he was often nicknamed.
“Then you needn’t cry, you needn’t. I ain’t crying, I ain’t. Hate old Aunt Sally. Hate ’Tonio. Hate Ferd. Hate everybody. Give me my breakfast, old Aunt Sally Benton!”
“Hate Bentons!” agreed Luis, and flung his arms about his little tyrant’s throat till he choked from outward expression whatever more might have issued thence.
“Ned! Why, Ned! I never, never knew you so naughty! Do tell me; what has happened?”
Mrs. Benton glared at the culprit over her down-dropped spectacles in a truly formidable manner, but the result was only a settled stubbornness which nothing moved.
Seeing that pleading was hopeless, at present, and that Ned was in one of his dogged fits, Jessica quietly walked away and began to help in the preparation of the elder people’s meal, as her mother liked to have her do.
Meanwhile, Aunt Sally waited upon the children, piling their saucers with the tasty porridge, moistened with Blandina’s yellow cream and plentifully sprinkled with sugar. They were healthy and unused to grief, and the palatable food soon restored their good humor. They seemed to forgive their venerable tormentor and fell to their accustomed scrimmage with the utmost enjoyment; and this was pleasanter for all concerned. However, even when they had eaten all they could and were ready for outdoors and their morning fun, their plans were nipped in the bud. Aunt Sally had a spare hand for each of them and conducted them firmly to the dining room and a place upon its lounge, while the family took their own food in what comfort they could.
This was not so great Mrs. Trent’s eyes would wander to the unhappy pair–for they were once more gloomy and unsubdued–and old Ephraim cast many glances thither, entreating by silent signals that they should repent of whatever sin they had committed and be restored to favor.
The meal past the family rose and, from her pocket, Mrs. Benton produced two long strips of cloth, one of which she fastened about each child’s wrist, leaving its other end to tie to her own apron belt.
Then she turned to the mother, whose tears were beginning to fall, and said, severely:
“Gabriella, if I didn’t love you as well as I love myself and better, I’d let these children go and no more said. But they’ve done that no punishin’ won’t reach, though maybe they’ll give in after a spell. I shan’t hurt ’em nor touch to; but I shall keep ’em tied to me till they tell me what I’m bound to know. So that’s all. You’ve got enough on your hands, with this funeral business and all that’ll come, and however we’re goin’ to feed another lot of visitors so soon after them others, I declare I don’t see. And me with these tackers tied to my apron strings, the way they be!”
Mrs. Trent rose and left the room and Jessica slowly followed. Neither of them could quite understand Aunt Sally’s present behavior, nor why she should wish to bother herself with two such hindrances to the labor which must be accomplished.
But Ephraim lingered. He simply could not endure the sight of the little ones’ unhappiness, and quietly slipping a knife from his pocket he coolly cut their leading strings, caught them up in his strong arms and limped away before their captor had discovered her loss.
