The Brass Bound Box

"Oh, dear! Do come down and wash, and let's quit quarrelling. Seems as if we never could agree about things, yet we must. We've got to be friends if we have to keep Aunt Eunice's secret, for even though you did tell it before it was hers you needn't make it worse and speak of it again. If anybody asks you about it now, all you must do is to keep perfectly still. Not say a word. Let them think what they please, but don't you talk. Now, isn't there any other way to go upon the hay except by that beam? The Widow Sprigg said she was going up there herself soon as she got time, and I'm sure she doesn't do what you did."

"C-c-couldn't do it with – out," asserted the climber, referring to the moistening operation.

"I mean she would never 'shinny' up a straight, slivery beam."

"Huh! I s'pose there's a l-l-lad-der, do for g-g-girls," asserted Montgomery, indifferently.

"Then show it to me and I'll begin to teach you how not to stammer."

He looked at her sharply, but there was such perfect sincerity in her face that he accepted her promise joyfully, and led her to the rear of the barn where a rude but strong ladder led from the "bay" at the bottom to the top of the hay, almost touching the roof. Jumping from the higher board floor of the barn into this bay Montgomery ran nimbly up the perpendicular ladder, which was so straight it seemed fairly to tilt backwards, like an overerect person, and Katharine followed as best she might. She was afraid but determined, and, though the slippery blades of the dried grass fell over the rounds of the ladder, making foothold difficult, she managed to reach the level beneath the eaves and was pulled over into safety by the boy.

"Isn't this delightful? I was never in such a lovely place before, so smelly and sweet and warm. I don't wonder hens like it up here, though it's scarey coming up. Don't you think so?" she asked, looking around upon the lofty mow with curious gaze.

"S-s-scarey? Pooh! That's 'cause you're a girl. G-g-g-irls wasn't made to climb. B-boys were. I can climb first-rate. Yes, sir. I c-c-can climb anything. I can cl-cl-climb any tree in Aunt Eu-Eu-Eunice's woods. I can climb any tree in Deacon Meakin's woods. I – I can climb all the trees in Sq-Sq-Squ-Squire Petti – john's woods, top the mountain. I can climb any tree in the whole w-w-world! I c-c-co-could climb the church steeple!"

Katharine listened to this boastful statement with interest. She not only believed it, but had observed that as Montgomery neared his climax his stammering became less pronounced. This coincided with the Cyclopedia and suggested the first lesson she should give. But she had herself "climbed" to this height for another matter besides instruction. To descend with a quantity of fresh eggs for Susanna's depleted larder would be to bring one ray of sunshine into that darkened house. For as the widow had pertinently inquired of the hired man, only the night before, "How can a body cook good victuals without ingrejunce? An' what's the greatest ingrejunce in punkin pies if it ain't eggs? Or cake, uther?" to which Moses had jocularly replied: "It might be punkin or flour." And again, Susanna: "My suz! But you air smart, ain't ye? Well, eggs I haven't, an' eggs I shall an' must. An' up that loft I go, tromple or no tromple the hay, an' before the sun sets another time on this deceivin' world."

Therefore, eggs Katharine would obtain and then instruct; and, announcing this decision, Montgomery did his best to aid her in the search. Nor was it unsuccessful. There were three nests, safely placed beneath the eaves where their builders had supposed in their hen-minds that no human being would ever come, while another adventurous fowl had lazily scooped a hole in the very centre of the mow and deposited her eggs. In any case, eggs there were in abundance, and, having filled Montgomery's pockets and Kate's hat with them, they took their own well-earned rest upon the fragrant hay beneath the slatted window.

Sunshine and air came through it, and the song of birds in the trees; and beyond another distant wide-opened shutter they could see the roofs of village homes and the spire of the church which Monty felt he could so easily climb. There, all anxiety forgotten, they dreamed dreams and saw visions; and in each and all they were both to be good and great and world beneficent.

"I shall be a great artist some day. As great as my father, or maybe, if one could be – even greater. Because, you see, poor papa had to work for money, not for love of his art. I've heard him say so, time and time again. When he wanted to paint great pictures he had to paint mean little ones, such as common persons liked and would buy. 'Pot boilers' he called them, because they brought the cash, the 'fuel,' to keep the 'pot' a-boiling. Course, we had to have clothes and a house and things to eat, and nobody to buy them except papa darling. Maybe, up in heaven, he is painting his 'great picture' now. What do you suppose?" asked Katharine, gazing through the slats at the blue sky overhead.

"I d-d-don't know much about heaven. I never had time to think. T-t-t-th-there's always so much doin'," answered Monty. Yet, following Katharine's rapturous gaze skyward, his own blue eyes had filled with dreamy speculation, and he began to picture to himself the wonders of that world beyond Marsden village which he meant sometime to find.

"B-b-but I'll tell you somethin', Katy Maitland. I'm not goin' to stay here always. I'm goin' to be a big man and – and do things," he observed, after a prolonged meditation.

"How big? What things?"

"Oh! Big as they g-g-grow. Big as the postmaster. B-b-big as Sq-Sq-Squ-Squire Petti – john. I'm goin' to be either a s-s-sailor, or – maybe P-P-Pr-President."

"If you're President you'll be a – a, what is it they call them? Politicalers, I guess," returned the girl.

"P-p-p-pol-er-tic – ian," corrected Montgomery, with stuttering eagerness.

Katharine accepted the correction without comment, though her lips twitched and her eyes twinkled; and after a pause she continued: "Politicians can do things. They can get folks elected. Anybody to anything. Plain storekeepers to be postmasters; postmasters to be Senators; Senators to be Presidents; and – and hired men to be constables. Can't they?"

"Y-y-yes. Why?"

Katharine sat upright so suddenly that her hat rolled over and the eggs spilled from it. However, the hay was soft, and no harm was done, nor was her enthusiasm cooled by a trifle of that sort. Clasping her hands ecstatically, she exclaimed:

"We must do it! You and I must get Uncle Moses Jones elected constable. Now, while he's sick, for a surprise. Won't that be grand?"

"Grand!" assented Montgomery, with such eagerness that he forgot to trip in his speech. Then doubt and stammering returned together. "W-w-we c-c-c-couldn't."

"Yes, we could, if we had any s-s-sp-spunk!" retorted Katharine, heartlessly. "Folks have to be little politicians before they are big ones, I suppose, just like children before they are grown-ups. Well, you're a little politician now, a teeny tiny one, and it will be just splendid practice for you to get a village constable elected. I believe that although Uncle Moses and even Aunt Eunice speak so proudly of that office, that it isn't as great as some others. I don't know, and I wouldn't care at all except for him. But we must do it. I've heard him talking with Widow Sprigg how that now the 'law was changed,' 'town meeting' was no 'great shakes' any more, for the Presidents and constables all got mixed in together till a 'body couldn't tell t'other from which.' For his part he'd 'ruther be 'lected in the spring when crops was growin' an' tramps a-trampin', though if he was forced into it, better one time than never,' and a lot more funny grumble. She told him not to worry, that he'd never be 'forced,' much as he'd like it. I've decided that he must be elected, and without any 'forcing,' and I've the splendidest plan you ever heard. First, I'll give you a lesson. Then I'll tell you, else you'll believe I'm forgetting my promise. I'm not. I'm only considering the best way to begin. Well, Montgomery Sturtevant, that bad habit of yours comes from laziness and nervousness. Pure laziness, pure nervousness," she added, with emphasis.

"D-d-don't neither!" denied the stammerer, indignantly. "Ain't got no nerves. G-gr-gramma says so, and she knows. She's older 'n you, an' she's got 'em worst kind. Always gets 'em when I play the f-f-fiddle."

"Maybe there are two kinds of nerves. She doesn't stammer. Besides the Cyclopedia said so, and it tells the truth. Here. Put this pebble in your mouth. It's a nice smooth round one. I picked it up in the garden and washed it clean. You put it in and then say just – as – slow – as – slow: 'Betsy Bobbins baked a batch of biscuit.' After you learn to say it slow, without once stammering, then you begin to say it faster. Either that or any other jingle that's difficult without tripping. 'She sells sea-shells,' or, 'Peter Piper.' Why don't you put the pebble in?"

"I don't want t-to. You're mocking me!"

"There! I knew you needn't if you really wouldn't. When you are a little angry or in real earnest you can talk well. Listen to me and think if I'm not in earnest myself, since I took the trouble to copy all this for you."

Thereupon, from the little pocket of her blouse, which had held the pebble, the teacher took a folded paper, closely covered with her neatest script, and read therefrom paragraphs which alternately plunged her pupil into despair or exalted him to extravagant delight. And the fortunate result of this first lesson was that when it was ended Montgomery had repeated an entire sentence with reasonable smoothness. But he had accomplished this without the pebble and with almost interminable pauses between words.

"Yet you did it, you did it!" cried Katharine, exultantly; "and now for a reward you shall hear the most glorious plan I ever thought out. Listen to me, Mr. President-that-is-to-be!"

So Montgomery listened in astonishment, doubt, and delight, after his habit of mind; yet also, because of her zeal in his cure, with unquestioning allegiance. In any case, it was a scheme that would have appealed to him irresistibly and was one full worthy of the brain of "Kitty Quixote," so that he was fast outstripping even her ingenuity in the matter of detail, when the sudden call of Widow Sprigg fell like a dash of cold water upon their glowing spirits:

"Montgomery Sturtevant! You come right down out that mow this minute! Here's Squire Pettijohn after you!"

CHAPTER IX.

SQUIRE PETTIJOHN

Katharine should have grown familiar, by this time, with Monty's spasmodic disappearances, but this last was the most amazing of all. It seemed that at the sound of "Pettijohn" the hay had opened and swallowed him. There had been no other summons and she had heard only a faint swish of something sliding, then found herself alone.

"But he'll come back, of course," she reflected, "after he's seen that gentleman. Must have been somebody he liked or he wouldn't have hurried so. Anyway, I don't mind being here a little while by myself to think things out all clear, and a hay-mow is the loveliest place in the world for dreaming."

It proved such in reality for Katharine, who, burrowing herself a fresh, chair-like "nest" in the sweet-scented hay, laid her head back and fixed her gaze upon the clouds floating above the slatted window. Soon her lids dropped and she fell fast asleep.

When she awoke the loft was dusky in twilight and she was very cold. The wind had risen, and little tufts of the hay about her blew here and there, clinging to her clothing and lodging among her short curls. Montgomery had not returned, and after lying still a moment longer, till she was fully awake, she grew frightened, thinking:

"I never heard such a moaning and whistling as the wind does make up here. I wonder if it is always so in a barn, and how I am to get down. It was hard enough coming up, but in the dark, like this, and I not remembering just where that ladder was; and if I don't find it – what shall I do? Yet how silly to be afraid of things, a big girl like me; and how impolite of that boy to go away and forget me. No matter how much he likes Squire Pettijohn, he shouldn't forget his manners; especially since it is I, not that gentleman, who is going to cure him of stuttering. And what a stupid I am not to call him! If he's forgotten I must remind him."

With that she crept as near the edge of the mow as she dared, and shouted: "Montgomery! Monty Sturtevant! Boy! Come back and help me down!"

While she listened for a reply she thought of the eggs she had collected for Susanna, and crawled back to find her hat and them. The hat she slipped over her head, its elastic band clasping her throat, and the eggs she stored within her blouse. They were heavy and made it sag inconveniently, but she could soon get rid of them if only that wretched little Sturtevant boy would come back. She must try again!

"Mon-ty! Mont – gom – ery!"

Nothing save the wind soughing dismally among the rafters responded to her call, uttered with her loudest voice, and a fresh shiver of fear crept over her. Then she rallied, growing angry, which, under the circumstances, was the best thing that could have happened. Her indignation made her half-forget her terror so that she could plan her descent with something like courage.

"Let me think. I noticed that the top of that straight little ladder came high above the hay, almost to the roof in one place. I'd better get on my stomach and just crawl along, ever so slowly and carefully, till I find it. But – hark! Oh, joy!"

From somewhere in the darkness below a familiar yelp and whine sounded faintly. The roaring of the wind almost drowned it, yet she recognized that Punch had traced and followed her. She had always loved him, but never had he been so adorable as at that moment. His unseen presence comforted her so that she called back to him quite cheerfully:

"Yes, you precious, beautiful dog! Mistress is up here. She's coming! Wait for her, darling, darling fellow!"

It is possible that the ugly-favored little animal appreciated this flattery, or he may have had troubles of his own which needed comforting. Since his arrival at Marsden, life had not been all chop-bones for him any more than it had been all catnip for Sir Philip, and the short, gay bark with which he now responded to his mistress' cry proved their mutual satisfaction.

At last, Katharine's cautious passage came to a pause as her fingers touched the ladder, but she realized that a misstep would send her over that precipice of hay into the bay below, which now seemed a gulf of unfathomable depth. Inch by inch, with greater prudence than she had ever exercised, she moved onward in the gloom, now become almost impenetrable, till she got one foot upon a round of the ladder.

"That's good. But I guess I'd see better if I closed my eyes, and I must go down it backwards. Now I've both feet on and – dear me! How far it is between steps. Why don't people put their rounds closer together, so they wouldn't be so hard to climb? I was never on a ladder before except a step one, and that not often, and – But I'll manage."

Manage she did and very well, until she had nearly reached the bottom. Then, pushing her foot downward where one of the rounds had been broken out, it found nothing to rest upon though she stretched it to her utmost, and all at once everything seemed to give way and she fell backwards. Fortunately, the distance was so slight and the bay so carpeted with hay that no serious harm resulted; and when a cold wet nose was thrust into her face she sprang to her feet, catching Punch in her arms and in her great relief caressing him till he rebelled and wriggled himself free.