Kitabı oku: «The Brass Bound Box», sayfa 14
At which she laughed heartily, then hastily added:
"But we must be gettin' home to oncet. I'll step up attic an' get a couple o' shawls to wrop 'round us, heads an' all. I do hope we shall be pervented from takin' cold temptin' Providence the way we have, at our time o' life. Nate, he won't stir no more to-night. He's too tuckered out an' too well fed. Sleep's the best medicine for him, so we'll shut up quiet like an' start. But where in the world'll you get clothes, as you said? Man's clothes, you an' me, old women without a man betwixt us, except Moses, an' it bein' kep' secret from him still. If you tell him he'll tell the deacon, an' what the deacon knows belongs to the hull community."
"I'll find them, Susanna; I'll send an order for all he needs by the morning stage."
"Tell Reub Smith! My suz! Might as well proclaim it from the church steeple!"
"No, indeed. I shall not tell him, but simply send an order by him when he goes to town in the morning."
Then they hurried home, and Miss Maitland rested better that night than she had done since the children brought her the brass bound box from out the forest.
Next morning Monty "hooked school." Not that this was an extraordinary thing to happen, although its purpose was mysterious. He did not seek either woods or river, for nuts or fishes, but hung about the post-office till Reuben Smith drove tooting down South Hill into the village street on his way outward toward the county town. The stage drew up with a jerk, Reuben stepped down with unusual liveliness, and behold! there were two patrons ready with orders to be executed.
Miss Eunice and Montgomery Sturtevant. They faced each other in mutual surprise. Each held a sealed letter in hand and each was in haste. The lady spoke first: "Why, Monty! Is your grandmother trusting you to take care of her business matters already? That's fine."
"N-n-no, Aunt Eu-Eu-Eunice. I-I-I-I – " The afflicted lad had never stammered worse nor seemed so uncomfortable.
Puzzled, but too well-bred to pry into other people's affairs, Miss Maitland finished her directions to the stage-driver and general express agent for the village, and went home. Montgomery's relief at her departure made Reuben laugh, but he liked the lad and listened very patiently to the almost endless details stammered at him. Then he most carefully, with an exaggerated caution indeed, bestowed the fat envelope which contained ten whole crisp new dollars where nobody but himself would be apt to look for it – not in the wallet with his other commissions, but in his boot! This gave the whole transaction a touch of the romantic, and suggested possible "hold-ups" in a way to set Monty's eyes a-bulge. Then the stage rattled away to the north, and the day's monotony settled upon Marsden village.
There was much whispering that day in school, and a prompt departure from the building at close of the afternoon's session. It had been noticeable, also, that at "nooning" every scholar, old or young, had repaired to the rear of the play-ground, out of hearing of the teacher. There they had grouped themselves about Katharine Maitland, with Montgomery Sturtevant as her supporter, and had listened breathlessly to some matter she divulged. Only one sentence had reached the master's ears, as he tapped the bell for them to come in again to later lessons:
"Everybody don't forget a knife. And everybody'll get an invitation to-morrow. Then everybody will understand, and if everybody isn't perfectly delighted, I shall be surprised. Teacher will have his, too; I'm workin' on it with nice red ink."
That some exciting affair was on foot, and that he was to be included in it was evident; and being himself not many years older than his "big boys," he was patiently indulgent over the many blunders at recitations which followed.
Never had Marsden school children arrived at their respective homes so early, nor so promptly availed themselves of parents' satisfaction in this promptness. Books were bestowed in tidiness, lunch-baskets hung in place, and in every house in the village there was simultaneously preferred the request:
"May I go out to play?"
Consent obtained – and what mother could refuse it to so deserving a petitioner? – there followed a stampede of youngsters toward Eunice Maitland's south corn-field.
Late October brings early nightfall, and even playtime seems over with the dusk, but that night there were many, many empty places at waiting supper-tables, and many mothers' ears grew anxious listening for the clatter of young feet which came not.
But the late rising moon looked down upon a curious scene. Throughout that same south corn-field had been scattered hundreds of golden pumpkins ripe for the harvest; and all among them, each with his or her allotted pile of the great fruit, was every truant youngster. Corn shocks had been overturned for the more comfortable seating of the toilers, and knives gleamed in the moon-rays as the diligent fingers fashioned Jack-o'-lanterns sufficient in number, as Monty declared, to "l-l-light the w-w-wh-whole world!"
CHAPTER XX.
UNINVITED GUESTS
Katharine escaped the chiding she deserved because, when she reëntered the house, Miss Eunice was engaged with company and Susanna was preparing a tray of refreshments to be served the guests. Montgomery escaped because Madam supposed he had been at The Maples where so much of his time was now passed. He went supperless to bed, but Katharine, most guilty of all delinquents, fared sumptuously upon a portion of the dainties from the housekeeper's "company tray." The Turner trio of culprits ate wedges of cold pumpkin pie, eaten standing by the kitchen sink, and went to bed to dream that all the world was made of pumpkins which it was their destiny to consume before a general illumination began. At least, that was what Martha dreamed, and, having roused the other pair to relate it to them, they were sleepy enough to believe they had dreamed it, too.
Other children – But why prolong the story? Many of the pumpkin artists had reason to remember that night for some time to come; yet not one ever admitted that they had not found their fun outweigh their punishment.
Some days previous Katharine had put a very mild request to Aunt Eunice, in the words:
"Aunty, would you mind if I had a little Hallowe'en party? Out in the barn, where it wouldn't be any trouble to anybody?"
And the lady, always glad to make her young charge happy, had replied:
"Why, no, dear. Certainly, you may have one if you wish."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, you darling Aunty Eunice!" springing up to hug her guardian ecstatically. Then, with her young cheek against the older one: "And would it be too much to ask – Deacon Meakin to – to stay away that day?"
"Why, Katharine, that couldn't be. Besides giving him offence, how could we spare him?"
"Monty and I could do the chores. Bob Turner could milk. Bob's a first-rate milker, Martha says so."
"Well, well. Maybe it can be arranged. I'll see."
"Because, Aunt Eunice, it's to be such a beautiful benefit to – Oh, I forgot. But if he could stay at home just once; he's so what Widow calls 'pernickity,' and he says children ought to be born 'growed up.' They can't be that, can they? So I do think, I just do think they might be let to have some nice times without folks scolding and acting hateful."
"The deacon doesn't mean to be hateful, Katy. We'll see."
Fortune favored the child as it so often did. After a particularly wearisome contest of wills between the original hired man and his successor, the deacon resigned his position and left in a huff. A neighboring youth was sent for to take his place, but, as far from being a hindrance to Katharine's schemes, proved her very best ally. Montgomery knew William well, and his wheedling, if stammering, tongue soon persuaded the young man that in furthering the success of the party he was furthering his employer's also.
In due time every boy and girl in the township received a laboriously written invitation, and all accepted, of course. This was understood without the trouble of replies.
Even the schoolmaster was not forgotten, though he waited until school was dismissed before he opened his neatly folded bit of paper, and read:
"The favor of your presence is requested at the Big Barn of Miss Eunice Maitland at The Maples, on the evening of October 31st, to a Hallowe'en Corkis. At seven o'clock by the church steeple. Please bring your teaspoon with you.
"Yours respectfully,"Katharine Maitland."
This unique invitation was the joint production of Katharine and Montgomery. The first part was hers, recalled from wedding-cards often seen at her old home in the city; the latter part was due to Monty's forethought. Katharine had never heard of a "corkis;" but, by way of dabbling in politics through loiterings at the village store, the boy had acquired some technical terms, and insisted that this was what best befitted their case. As he could not spell the word, and she couldn't find it in the dictionary, though she searched all the "Cor" columns through, she adopted phonetic spelling with the above result. Also, since there was as much variety in "time" as there was in clocks, the guests were advised to regulate their arrivals by the biggest one visible. As to the teaspoon clause – that was positively necessary. "How could a boy eat ice-cream without a spoon? And how could anybody, even Aunt Eunice, who had a trunk full of silver, lend a body spoons enough to go around, admitting that one dared ask for them? For if everybody came who was asked, and everybody certainly would since they hadn't been polite enough to send regrets (even before the cards were out), what would a body do, I should like to know?"
As there was altogether too much body in this argument for Montgomery he yielded the point and waited the great event with what patience he might. Not so much patience was required, however, since there was much labor to accomplish. William hitched up the team, thoughtfully taking an opportunity when Miss Maitland had gone to pay a visit to the distant Mansion, and brought the field full of Jack-o'-lanterns up to the barn; into which, carefully keeping the sound sides of the pumpkins toward the kitchen windows and Susanna's eyes, he conveyed them. Then the doors were closed and the decorating began.
"C-c-can't make 'em hang," lamented Montgomery, after a few moments' unsuccessful effort.
"Course not. That string's too light. Wait. I'll fetch something," said Katharine, as decorator in charge. Then she sped into the house and borrowed Susanna's clothes-line.
"My clothes-line, child? What on earth for?"
"Oh, you'll see sometime. I sha'n't hurt it!" returned the eager girl, skipping away.
The widow was glad to have "the children" out of the way for the time being. She, also, was planning a "surprise," for Eunice had told her of Katharine's "little Hallowe'en party," and the good housekeeper determined that not a single young guest should return home after that event without carrying a report of a fine repast.
As she said to Moses, when fixing him up for the day:
"It does seem good after all our worries lately to do somethin' just plain plumb foolish, like lettin' young ones have a nice time. Me an' Eunice, we have more on our minds 'an we let on to you, but I'm goin' to forget 'em."
"Forgettin' your mind won't be no great job, nor loss nuther. Wouldn't be much matter if 'twasn't never found again," he retorted, half-facetiously, and half-vexed that, as she hinted, there were still confidences withheld from him.
Susanna ignored his playfulness, and went on as if he had not interrupted:
"I'm goin' to make jumbles, an' little frosted cakes, an' teeny-tiny riz biscuit, an' raisin-loaf. I've got a ham on b'ilin', an' – my suz! It most makes me feel a dozen years younger, just the mere idee of havin' a childern's party. We hain't had none sence Johnny run away, an' – "
"Oh, hum! An' here I must lie like a log o' wood an' no share in it. Me that always thought more of young ones 'an you did. Anyhow, I don't see what great call you got to mix up in it. S'pose you expect to be invited, don't you? What you goin' to wear? White with pink ribbons, like all the other little girls?" demanded the imprisoned man.
"Well, I hain't thought much about my clothes, but I did lay out to wear my common sense an' trim it with a wreath o' good nature, an' maybe a sprig of patience fastenin' the hull. Never mind, Moses. Maybe you'll get more share in it 'an I shall. Somethin' may happen to keep me from enjoyin' myself any more'n you are this minute. An' – my suz! I smell that ham water b'ilin' over this instant. An' – what next! There's Kitty Keehoty comin' out the tool-house with that roll o' grapevine wire that you put away so careful – an' it's most more'n she can lug. But she'd tackle it. She'd tackle it if it was twicet as heavy. She's got more ambition an' gumption than ary young one I ever knowed. My suz! She couldn't carry it, after all, so she's put it down an' is draggin' it. She looks a pictur'! Her hair blowin' all 'round her head, her cheeks like roses, her feet fairly dancin' with happiness, her eyes like stars. Well, a body'd ought to take a bit o' trouble, now an' then, whilst they're little. It does take such a mere mite to make childern pleased. She – "
Poor Uncle Moses could bear no more. There had never been so many interesting things happening as since he had been in bed, unable to take part in them. Within his age-worn body beat the heart of a little child, and he was nearly frantic, imagining what might be going on beyond those closed barn doors and he shut out.
"Clear out, Susanna Sprigg. Get away from that winder. Don't ye let me hear another word about that party. If a miracle happens so's I can go to it, all right. If not – the sooner you look after that ham the better."
Susanna turned from the pane, saying quite gently:
"I don't know as the days of miracles is past. Seems if there was some been done right here in Marsden township. I am sorry for ye, Moses. I'd almost ruther stay to home myself than have you miss the fun. Maybe you won't. Maybe a fresh miracle will be done. Maybe I shall see you the chief sinner in the synagogue, I mean the most invited comp'ny – My suz! You know what I mean better'n I can say it. I'll fetch you up a sandwich, soon's that ham is cooked."
She hurried below, and the unhappy hired man turned his face from the light and went to sleep, or tried to, though the odors of good things wafted to him from the kitchen beneath kept his thoughts on the disturbing party and angered him against the two children he loved.
"Should ha' thought they'd waited till I was up an' 'round again. 'Twouldn't have hurt 'em an' would ha' been showing some decent feelin' fer me," he grumbled. And little did the old man dream that he was, indeed, the very heart and centre of the whole festivity!
Oh, what a day that was! The toilers in the barn sent in word that they were too busy to stop for any dinner, and Susanna retorted that she was herself fully too busy to cook it for them. Everybody had a slice of bread and butter and a glass of milk, which didn't take a minute to dispose of. Even the mistress, who had returned, fared thus.
That afternoon Reuben Smith tooted up to Miss Maitland's front gate and handed out a paste-board box, very large and weighty, which Susanna hastily received and carried into the house. There it was hurriedly opened behind closed doors by Aunt Eunice, with her housemate to assist, and was found to contain a new suit of men's clothing, with all accessories needful.
"I'll carry them to poor Nathan at once, and make sure he puts them on. Then, if you're willing, we'll light a fire in your stove and burn all his old rags," said the mistress.
"Not alone, Eunice Maitland, not alone!" cried the old housekeeper, who wouldn't have missed this business if all the jumbles she had made had burned themselves to a crisp. Fortunately, they were out of the way, and though she had mixed dough for raisin-cake she hadn't yet put in "the lightenin'." "If we start to oncet there ain't nothin' to harm, an' the childern's so busy they'll never notice. Moses is asleep. Let's go right away. My suz! Seems if I couldn't wait to make that poor feller into a decent man!"
As excited and eager over their own secret as the young folks over theirs, they seized bonnets and wraps, and, carrying the box between them, slipped unobserved from the house in the direction of the woods.
Thus it chanced that they did not see what an unusual thing the stage-driver did; how that, leaving Miss Maitland's parcel at the front of the house, he drove by a roundabout lane to the back door of the barn, and there set down, with William's help, two barrel-like tubs, weighty with broken ice and carefully covered with bits of old carpet. Similar tubs had sometimes been brought to Marsden by the same messenger, but only for such occasions as the Fourth of July or the Sunday-school picnic. Never before for any private function, and the news of the present arrival spread swiftly through the village, suggesting to interested parents that, though themselves uninvited, it might be as well to go along and see what the children were doing!
And it came at last! The delightful hour, the culmination of all this preparation. At last, at last, the wheezy clock in the church steeple announced that it was seven o'clock!
Then from out the many homes of Marsden and its by-ways issued the eager guests. Girls in white frocks; boys in Sunday suits; all uncomfortable in freshly donned winter flannels – since this was to be a sort of out-doors party and there must be no afterclaps of croup; and elders in their second-best attire, worn with an affected indifference of its just happening so.
Said Mrs. Turner to Mrs. Clackett: "Course we wasn't asked. It's just a children's party that Johnny Maitland's little girl is giving as a sort of youngsters' 'infair.' Pa and me thought 'twas better to come along and see the children got there safe, them not being used to going out evenings."
To which her neighbor replied: "Yes, we feel that way about our girls and boy. But I confess, we're sort of curious to know what the 'Corkis' part of the invitation means. Clackett, he says he guesses Katy meant 'caucus,' but that don't throw no more light on the matter, if it does. What on earth a lot of young ones want with a 'caucus,' beats me. But here we are, and – My! Isn't it pretty?"
Pretty it was, and far, far more than pretty. To these unused eyes such a scene as might have come from fairy-land. Even to Aunt Eunice, newly admitted, the old barn seemed an unknown spot; and she sat enthroned upon her seat of honor – an oat-bin transformed by cushions of straw and sheaves of corn – amazed but equally delighted. The whole great structure was ablaze with radiance. Susanna's clothes-line and Moses' grapevine wire supported grinning Jacks innumerable. The glowing yellow heads looked down from rafter and beam, peeped from the stalls, dangled from stanchions. Between them gleamed also oddly shaped Chinese lanterns, and these were a form of illumination wholly new to that inland village. There were sheaves and vines and branches everywhere, and those who observed could scarcely believe that the whole transformation, save and beyond the carving of the pumpkins, had been wrought by three pairs of young hands.
What cared happy Kitty Keehoty that of all her crisp ten dollars there remained but thirteen cents? Hadn't they paid for all these shining candles, those tubs of cream, the grotesque lanterns which her new friends so admired, and the heaps of candy on the table at the far end of the great floor? The table was improvised by a couple of planks laid upon barrels and covered by a cloth borrowed from the linen closet. It would have been covered with nothing else, save the candy and a pile of wooden plates for the cream, had not Susanna produced her own surprise – in such stores of cakes and sandwiches and toothsome dainties as made the small giver of the function open her own eyes in amazement.
Oh, how delightful it all was! And didn't the pleasure in so many faces more than pay for the ten dollars spent and the proudly weary widow's hours at an oven door?
But how they came! So fast, so eager, so cordially willing to be pleased! All the young guests who had been bidden by such a painful outlay of pen and ink, and all their fathers and their mothers, "their uncles and their aunts and their cousins!" All the merrier, all the better, all the surer of success! For the best was yet to come. The delicious, ambitious, loving secret scheme which had originated in the teeming brain of Kitty Keehoty, and, aided and abetted by Montgomery, her knight, was now to be divulged.
"My – suz!" quoth Susanna, dismayed by the vast proportions of Katharine's "little party," "however – shall I give such a multitude – even a bite apiece?"
"I'll help!" cried Mrs. Clackett, quite understanding "a bite apiece" meant no personal violence. "I've lots of stuff baked at home. I'll fetch a basket of it in a jiffy."
"I, too!" echoed Mrs. Turner, and the pair set briskly homeward in neighborly kindness. Other matrons, not to be outdone, also disappeared from the assembly for a brief time; and soon thereafter William was called upon to improvise another table, till both were groaning with the weight of good things.
"My! It's most like a Sunday-school picnic, ain't it?" exclaimed the village seamstress, who at seventy years still had the same innocent enjoyment in such affairs as she had had at seven. "But, hush! Somethin's a-doin'!"
Something was certainly "a-doing!" There was a great bustle and stir at the double doors and in came Deacon Meakin, William, Mr. Clackett, and the schoolmaster, carrying a cot between them on which lay Moses Jones, at last minus his ball and chain, and feeling as if he didn't know himself – so utterly amazed was he. Amid a sudden outringing cheer the cot was carefully deposited in an open space that had been kept for it, close beside that throne where Eunice still sat smiling in gracious hospitality.
The fresh excitement incident to this arrival had scarcely died, when Madam Sturtevant appeared, with her small handmaid in train. The lady had been somewhat doubtful about accepting the invitation for herself, having been informed by her grandson that, outside The Maples' family, she was the only grown-up so favored except the schoolmaster; and she was more than doubtful for Alfaretta. For a time the anxious girl's fate hung in the balance. It did not strike Madam as just the correct thing to take a servant – Alfy was really that, of course – to a Maitland party. Yet the child had just as good blood in her veins as many others who would attend, even if her lot in life were less fortunate. Besides, was it right to disturb her quiet habits by such frivolity? While the matter was pending, Alfaretta could only calm her perturbed mind by gathering every belated daisy she could find and testing her fortune upon its white petals. "Shall I be let to go? Shall I not?" Mostly, the daisies said: "I shall!" Yet it was old Whitey who, after all, decided the question.
That mild-eyed bovine had the spirit of an Arab steed. Had she been born a colt and not a calf she would have "pricked it o'er the plain" with the best of her race; but being merely a somewhat venerable cow, she could only wander. In the wide fields still surrounding the Mansion there was sufficient pasturage for many cows, and certainly too much for one; so there was not the slightest reason why she should trespass upon village dooryards except the fact that she delighted to do so. Broken gates, which there was nobody to repair, made wandering easy; and it may be that she had, in part, acquired the habit in the days of her youth, when Verplanck Sturtevant had 'tended her as his son did now. Both masters were far better content elsewhere than at home, and Whitey fully shared their preferences. She had wandered again, some two days since, and had not returned at nightfall, as was her habit. Therefore, remembering that at the "Hallowe'en Corkis" there would be many children assembled, and that children "know everything" of village happenings, Madam had come, meaning to ask for news.
So the daisies had it, truly; and to the young bond-maid the longed-for happiness had been given.
When Madam had been assigned a place beside Miss Eunice, and the murmur of voices had recommenced, somebody struck a bell and every ear and eye became attentive. Katharine did not know whether this were the approved method of bringing a "Corkis" to silence, but it was one that served in school and proved to do so here. While the silence lasted and the crowding guests craned their necks forward, she was seen to lead, push, or in some manner propel a reluctant boy toward a ladder resting against the hay-mow and in full sight of most.
The boy was Montgomery, of course, and he was positively shaking with fright; but the girl whispered something in his ear – "For Uncle Mose!" and he rallied to his duty. Tossing off her guiding hand, he ran to the ladder, mounted it half-way, and faced about upon the multitude. He had been well tutored. He fixed his eyes not upon the faces below but at an exalted roof-beam, and addressing that began:
"Girls and boys, gentlemen and ladies: You have been invited here to-night to enjoy yourselves and to make somebody else enjoy himself. That somebody is Uncle Moses Jones, whom we all love, and who has had lots of trouble and broken bones lately. Next Tuesday is going to be election when our fathers and mothers vote, or – or – fathers do, anyway. If we ask our folks to do things they generally do them. What I ask now is that every one of you shall ask your father to vote for Uncle Mose to be constable, and I now nomernate him to be a constable. All in favor of his being constable – say 'aye!'"
Amid the uproar of "ayes" that followed Monty jumped headlong from his rostrum and would have run straight to his grandmother, had not Kitty Keehoty caught him midway and hugged him her stoutest, crying: "Oh, you splendidest brave boy! You did it, you did it! You never tripped once. You never stuttered a single stutter from beginning to end! Who says you sha'n't be President some day, an' be nomernated in a grown-up corkis? But – my sake, Montgomery Sturtevant! You forgot the most important part. I'll have to say that myself, 'cause it's that will count. That will be the promise."
Another stroke of Aunt Eunice's table-bell and a white-clad little figure was in Monty's place upon the ladder, holding up her hand for close attention. Without preliminary she informed the audience that there was one thing had been forgotten, and that was "the cranberries."
"Right by the head of the table is a basket of cranberries. A cranberry is a promise. There's another empty basket beside the full one. Everybody, girl or boy, who wants Uncle Moses to be constable must take a cranberry out one basket and drop it into the other; and —those who don't drop cranberries can't have – ice-cream!"
Squire Pettijohn had come – in a case of general town interest as this seemed to be it was important the great man should be present – and it was he who cried so loudly: "Hear! Hear!" and it was he, also, who started the laughter which followed, and pinched Kate's cheek as she passed him, saying something about "intimidation" and "lobbying," at which there was more laughter – Katy wondering why.
But the laughter did not continue long, since it was surely now time for supper; and, having swiftly decided that however little she might like him, yet the Squire's influence might be a powerful factor in carrying out this secretly designed plan of the children's, Miss Eunice was just descending from her oat-bin throne to ask him to open the feast, when another slight commotion occurred near the door. A woman screamed, and every eye turned upon two tardy and uninvited guests, who, leading each other as it were, now entered the scene.
Whitey, the cow, and Nate Pettijohn – tramp!
