Kitabı oku: «The Brass Bound Box», sayfa 15
CHAPTER XXI.
A NEIGHBORLY TRICK OF THE WIND
THE silence which followed lasted for a long time, during which Whitey stared mildly about upon her many acquaintances as if daring one of them to accuse her of vagrancy. Nathan, newly clothed and decent of apparel, but, as to unkempt hair and besmirched skin, still unmistakably the tramp, let his wild, frightened eyes roam ceaselessly from one guest to another till, finally, they fixed their gaze upon one face and rested there.
The face was that of Squire Pettijohn, hitherto complacent, self-satisfied village magnate. Now suddenly grown haggard and old, confronting that other face so curiously like his own. His son! Whose scant intelligence had always been a shame to him and because of which he had given neglect where care should have been. Whom he had been secretly thankful to lose and whom he had hoped would never again be found.
But he had found himself, and for a time the misguided parent and most unhappy child studied each other in mutual shrinking and dismay. All the adult guests recognized poor Nathan, now restored to the outward semblance of the decent citizen he had once been, and understood how it was that in their fleeting glimpses of the recent "tramp" there had been something puzzlingly familiar. The children gathered in knots, staring and quiet, and more than half-afraid. Unconsciously they felt that here was tragedy where but a moment since had been their merry comedy.
Then Katharine, as little lady of the feast, resolved to end this dreadful silence which was spoiling all the fun; and, running to Nathan's side, took his hand in hers and led him forward, saying:
"This is a friend of mine, people, and he's just in time for supper. I know him very well. I spent an afternoon with him down by the river, and you ought to know him, too, Uncle Moses, 'cause he's such a good fisher."
Then she pushed Nathan's soiled hand toward the man on the cot, who hesitated for one second, glancing toward the Squire's set face, then grasped it cordially, exclaiming:
"Why, Nate, hello! When'd you come to town? Hain't never lost your vote, have ye? 'Cause I 'low you'll have to cast it for me for constable next Tuesday, sence I've just been nomernated for the office. Hey?"
The tramp's eyes left his father's person and looked down upon the genial, helpless man beside him, and a slow smile stole into them.
"Hello, Uncle Mose. I've got here – eh?"
"Yes, you've got here, got home, all right. Better stay now. We're all – I say we're all glad to see ye. Marsden ain't such a big community she can afford to lose anybody. Where'd ye hail from, anyway?"
The hired man had grasped the situation promptly. Recognizing Nathan, he also recognized, as he supposed, the solution of the mysteries which had surrounded him of late. Eunice and Susanna had found the vagrant out, and had kept his identity secret, fearing the Squire. Now to Moses' intense satisfaction in his nomination – irregular though it was – was added the reflection that no harm could result, since at present there was no constable in Marsden, nor would be one until he himself was elected. He would be elected, of course. There was now no doubt of that. Kitty Keehoty, bless her! had put her small hand to the wheel of fortune and given it a whirl which was fast sending all good things his way. Then, if he was so favored, should his first official act be the punishment of a fellow townsman? A fishing townsman, at that? Not if he, Moses Jones, knew himself; and though he was still a "bedrid block o' wood," the block was fast repairing and would soon be as good as a freshly growing tree.
"From – from him. From Planck. I – I come to bring the box. But – I lost it. Oh, Madam! he sent it to you – he was dyin' then – and I've lost it – I've lost it! Planck'll be mad. He'll scowl and talk – Has anybody seen Planck's box?"
The forlorn fellow had left Moses' side and crossed to where Madam Sturtevant sat rigidly upon her elevated throne. The memories this returned wanderer had roused in her were so painful that they seemed to strangle her. Her throat grew dry, her lips parched, and her gaze was glued to the face of the vagrant who had been her lost son's chosen companion, vassal, possible friend. Why, why had he come?
Eunice laid her hand on the gentlewoman's arm. She felt that this tension must be loosed, even at the cost of fresh pain. "Elinor," said she, "you have borne much. Can you endure a further shock? it may be of fresh sorrow, but it may be of joy. Your brass bound box is found. Nathan brought it, Katharine found it, I have it."
Squire Pettijohn coughed, and strode majestically forward. He was once more the man of position who must see to it that his townsmen's interests were protected. This woman had maligned him. He had heard that she complained of his usuries, that he had taken advantage of her misfortunes, that he was a hard and cruel man. Worst of all to him – had said that he was not a gentleman! Conquering his disappointment at Nathan's return, he improved his opportunity of punishing and humbling her.
"Madam Sturtevant, ah – er – hm-m – at the time your guilty son disappeared, taking my son – whom his influence had ruined – with him, it was said that a certain casket of valuables disappeared as well. In behalf of the interest Marsden took in the case, and of my own – my own personal interest, I demand that if that casket has been restored it shall be opened here in the presence of your townsmen. I – er – my accommodation in times of your necessities, the large amounts now due me – I claim the right, the authority to say – Let the casket be produced."
Madam said nothing. She fixed her large eyes, still guiltless of spectacles (save in the privacy of home), and regarded him as she might have regarded some reptile.
Nathan seemed struggling with words which fear of his father prevented his speaking. But Miss Maitland stepped down, and, by a nod, summoned others to her, so that the vagrant presently felt himself surrounded by a group of kindly faces, which beamed upon him in protection. William, Deacon Meakin, the chivalrous schoolmaster, Susanna, and Katharine, quite unafraid to fling her small arm around his stooping shoulders and to pat them encouragingly.
Then Aunt Eunice went out, but was back again so quickly she had hardly been missed. She carried her hands quite high, so that all might see the strange, glittering, brass bound box they held, and, going swiftly forward, laid it on the Madam's lap, who recoiled from it, at first shrinking back and letting her clasped hands drop limply to her sides, yet rallied her courage and her pride as Eunice's tone of command touched both.
"Open it, Elinor. It is right. It is just. Let the truth be known at last."
Everybody crowded forward, the Squire among them, as with a simple touch, known only to the initiated, the keyless casket was unbanded and opened to the sight of all. Those who had anticipated the blaze of jewels, or, at least, the bulk of valuable papers and bonds, fell back disappointed. The box was absolutely empty save for a small folded sheet which looked like an ordinary letter.
A sigh, like a great sob, swept over the multitude, and now the fear which had troubled the tramp vanished, and, breaking free of the group about him, he laid his hand on Madam's knee and cried, exultantly:
"I did it! I fetched it safe. I was sick – oh, I was sick! – I was in jail – I was on an island – I was shipwrecked – I was in the water, with big, big waves – I was – so long, so long. But I wore it on a strap around my neck. Planck wrote it all and sealed it and put it in the box. Then he died, and I had promised; so I had to come, else I would have died, too. I wanted to, without Planck. But we'd told it to each other. We was good friends. Planck never called me 'fool,' not once, not in all our lives. When he went away with not a cent in his pocket, I couldn't stand it. Old Squire was rough. Old Squire was rich. Planck should be rich, too, just one little box full, anyway. But – He wrote it all down – read it, read it. Read it out real plain, like he was saying it again. My head aches. I can't think. Planck could think. But – Planck is dead."
In a dull despair the poor wretch who had journeyed so many leagues, across so many lands, through so many weary years, dropped his face in his hands, and wept like a child.
But with dry eyes, if tremulous hands, Elinor Sturtevant opened the letter as she had been besought. It bore date of a day long past, and address of Majomba, Africa, in the familiar script of her idolized son; yet keeping nothing secret to herself, she did "read it out," and this it was:
"My Dear Mother: – I send my farewell to you from this distant corner of the earth, where I came seeking fortune and finding death. Nathan has just got well of the fever from which I am dying, and promises to carry this letter to you. I have no money to send it by post even if I did not think it kindness to entrust him with it. He has loved me, been faithful to me even unto death, and it will be a last trust to comfort him. I foresee that he will have many vicissitudes before he reaches home – if ever he does; though it is my prayer that he may and that dear old Marsden will receive him kindly.
"It is his wish, and it is but just, to explain that he stole your brass bound box, in which I enclose this, and why. Simply for my unworthy sake. He believed that it held money, and a fear that I would be angry with him if I knew of the deed, made him keep it secret for a long, long time. Then once, in dire necessity, after Elizabeth was gone, he did confess and give it to me, and we opened it together.
"It was absolutely empty. I tell you this, dying; when a man speaks the truth. If ever it held valuables they had been removed, and, presumably, by my father. I supposed you, also, knew this, and so would not break the silence my angry pride imposed for the sake of a mere empty box. Do not blame poor Nate – he is scarce blameworthy, and he has loved me blindly all his life. So would he have loved his austere father if he had had a chance. And of all the lessons my life has brought me this I hold the highest – that love is best.
"I think of Elizabeth, sweetly resting under the turf at home. I think of my little son, and pray our Heavenly Father to be kinder to him than his earthly one has been. I think of my mother, whose heart I broke, and, dying, I cry – God bless her.
"Verplanck."
When the clear old voice quavered into silence there was not a dry eye left among the enrapt listeners. There was not a heart of man or woman that did not feel a sting at its own unjust judgment of the past. Nor was there one, either old or young, who did not pity rather than blame the poor sinner who had "loved much."
Some one was seen to go softly away. It was Squire Pettijohn, forgetful of his dire threat against any son of man who dared to "tramp" God's earth, unwarranted. Squire Pettijohn, with head bowed, heart humbled, who had always branded another man's son as "thief," only to find that self-confessed offender the child of his own home. Nobody sought to hinder him. In silence let him suffer his own shame – that would be punishment sufficient.
Madam sat so long with the opened box and letter in her lap, and with her eyes staring so at vacancy, that Katharine could not bear it. Nor could she bear that Monty should cry, as he was doing in that dreadful, quiet way. Boys shouldn't cry – it meant something terrible when they did. Besides, why should he now, anyway? The knowledge of his father's death was nothing new; and here was all the mystery explained, and the suspicion which had clouded his name completely removed.
"Why, Monty, darling, splendid Monty! Don't! Don't! You ought to be the gladdest boy who ever lived. See. Look at your grandmother. She isn't saying anything, and there is sorrow in her face, but there's wonderful pride in it, too. Why, think, boy, think! If for years and years you had thought somebody you loved was bad and then suddenly found they were good, after all, would you cry? No, indeed. Anyhow, I shouldn't. I should just hip-hip-hurrah! Three cheers for your father, that all can talk of and love now, and was, Uncle Moses says, one of the splendidest boys ever grew up in Marsden. Only he didn't like to stay at home, and that got him into trouble. That took away his chance of ever being President. But you can be if you want to. Any boy who stays at home and cures his own stuttering by just taking care and practising and going slow – and being dreadful nice to his grandmother – or mothers and fathers, like Ned's and Bob's – they can grow up to be Presidents or constables, 'ary' one. Let's give them, the cheers! Three for Montgomery Sturtevant, who's never going to do a wrong thing again, because he's found a father to talk about and love, just as I do 'Johnny,' who was mine! Three cheers for Nate Pettijohn, who brought the good news home! Three cheers for the brass bound box, that tried to be a gold mine, but turned out something ever and ever so much better! And three times three cheers for Uncle Moses Jones, who is going to be constable, after all, and looks this minute as if he wanted to arrest me, the first one, because I don't fetch him his supper, and who knows as well as I do that all that ice-cream is melting lickety-cut, while I stand here talking! Hip! Hip! Hurr-a-ah! And a tiger! Hip – hip – hurrah!"
How the rafters rang! and how surprised was every one to hear a girl, a mere little girl, deliver such an oration, and with such an entire forgetfulness of self. Not knowing then how great her heart was nor how she longed to make glad every single person in the world, even though most of her schemes went so wide of the mark that her own father had dubbed her his little "Quixote."
This brought all the company safely back from the realm of sentiment and deep emotion to the commonplace level of hunger and good cheer awaiting it. So Eunice Maitland herself led the way to table with Nathan Pettijohn close beside her, and, since there were no chairs to sit upon, took her stand at the end, and, bowing her graceful old head, gave silent thanks to the Giver of a feast so glorious as this had proved.
Even Madam, who could not be persuaded to leave her lofty isolation upon the oat-bin, nor to loose her hold of her brass bound box with its precious enclosure – so much more valuable than the diamonds which had once sparkled within it – even she did consent to taste of that rare delicacy which had come to Marsden in ugly wooden tubs. Her portion, though, was brought upon a china dish, because Susanna feared the gentlewoman's fastidious palate would dislike the flavor of a wooden plate. But then, intimate as she was through hearsay with the Mansion household, Susanna had yet never heard about burnt suppawn, and how an old-time gentlewoman can eat it without grimacing, even though she choke in the event. And Alfaretta – Her happiness must be guessed at. There isn't time to tell it; nor how many times her wooden plate was filled and refilled. It seemed to Katharine, observant, as if the poor girl's mouth opened and closed like a trap over every morsel presented to it, and that there was no evidence of swallowing. But, then, Alfy had never before attended a Hallowe'en Corkis, and probably never would again.
Still observant, Katharine saw Aunt Eunice's dear face grow more and more thoughtful, yet with a thoughtfulness in no measure sad. Finally, she left Nathan to Mrs. Clackett's care and hastily crossed the room to Madam's side.
"Elinor, do you remember how hard the old Squire tried to tell us who were watching his last hours of something that troubled him? And how we failed to comprehend?"
"Surely, Eunice, I remember," answered the old wife, slightly aggrieved. "Why should I not if you do?"
"Because one night when you had dropped asleep he roused, almost like himself again, and saw me. Then he said: 'Eunice, I am very forgetful. But I remember something now that I must tell Elinor.' I was so foolish, I fancied some other time would do, and you were so tired. I couldn't bear that you should be awakened, and nodded toward the sofa where you lay. He seemed to understand, and murmured: 'Never mind. I'll tell you. There is provision ample. He didn't take it. I accused him because I missed it. I – I – secret chamber – Oh, my head!' Then he dropped away again, and afterward came only those hopeless efforts which you saw as well as I. Now, I believe I've had an inspiration. Verplanck's father, sane, recalled the fact that he had wrongly accused his son while his mind wandered. It was he who had emptied the brass bound box and bestowed its contents in some place he felt was safer. In the secret chamber, I believe. Let us go and search for them!"
"Eunice, how silly! As if I hadn't ransacked every inch of every room in the old Mansion – all for nothing. Besides, what could one do at night?"
"What may we not do? What is one pair of eyes to many? What one tallow dip to a hundred Jack-o'-lanterns, lighted with real 'store' candles? May we try? Shall I give the word?"
Madam stood up. She was so happy in her letter that she cared not what else might happen. Besides, it was impossible to avoid sharing the enthusiasm shining in the face of her lifelong friend.
"Eunice, you are positively as childish as Katharine herself. But do as you please, do as you please. All the world is welcome to the Mansion now that it's honor has come home! And, servantless almost as I am, I can comfortably feel that there is no room, nor closet even, in the old place that is not fit for the inspection of every Marsden housewife. Yes, thank God! I have never felt myself demeaned by any household task that presented, and cleanliness is part of pure religion. Do as you like, dear, do as you like."
This was glorious! All Marsden felt that the night held too much of wonder to be true. After the party, after the restoration of the brass bound box, after Nathan Pettijohn's rehabilitation, after the establishment of Verplanck Sturtevant's innocence, after Moses' nomination, after the fine feast, to be admitted, to visit and examine – nay, more, authorized to pry into the famous but exclusive Mansion – Well, words simply failed.
The elders in that astonishing procession conducted themselves more hilariously than their children. Each armed with a grinning Jack, and somebody driving Whitey as a snowy guide, they marched two abreast down Marsden thoroughfare, into the Mansion grounds, through the wide entrance hospitably thrown open, into and over the house as will or curiosity dictated.
But everywhere with eager eyes, searching, hoping for the stately impoverished mistress of the Mansion that her treasures might be found.
Only the most nimble followed Monty and Katharine up the queer stairs of the "old part" into the chamber under the eaves where soldiers had once lain hidden. But even they, with their gleaming Jacks, were sufficient to set the whole low room aglow, yet was there no longer need for search.
The wind, which had done such devastation in the town, which had blown a welcome tramp back to his native haunts, had done even more. It had revealed the secret of years. Part of the chimney lay heaped on the floor, and among the fallen bricks and stones appeared a big tin box. A most ordinary box, such as many people use for insignificant belongings.
Somebody dubiously suggested that "It might be it!"
There was nothing dubious about Montgomery. Tossing his lantern to Bob Turner, he seized the tin case and scampered down the ladder stairs with a speed nothing but habit could have secured. Rushing into the ancient drawing-room, so oddly lighted now, he flung himself headlong upon Madam, stammering excitedly:
"Gr-gr-gram-ma! I've found i-i-i-it!"
Madam remembered the box, so valueless in itself. She had not seen it for years. She had no faith that it held aught but trifles now. Let the good neighbors see. A simple turn of the wrist, the commonplace key clicked in the lock, the flat cover fell back and – the lost treasure was revealed! All the missing jewels in their cases, all the bonds whose value would more than lift the mortgages upon the fine old property, all the gold in canvas sacks which would take Montgomery through college and train him for that possible Presidency to which he aspired.
Was ever such a night? Was ever such honest neighborly rejoicing? And were ever Marsden townsfolk so late out of their comfortable beds? For the candles in the Jacks had long burned out before that procession of happy people took their now darkened way homeward and Kitty Keehoty's Hallowe'en Corkis came to its final end.
