The Brass Bound Box

Lights were out all along the street as Montgomery's passing whistle disturbed the early naps of these quiet folk, who had been so greatly interested and wearied by that day's unusual events. But the clear, birdlike tones were comfort to one harassed wanderer.

Shivering in his wet rags, he crept out from the shelter of a porch to hearken, as those boyish lips sent forth in flute-like tones the melody of "Home, Sweet Home." Hearkening, he followed, fearing he should lose the music which impressed him, all unknowing why; and as the whistler left the last village house behind him and set out to run over the long stretch of lonely road, which lay between that and the Mansion, the follower also ran.

Had Montgomery known this his pace would have been even swifter than it was, and the mere fear he now felt would have become abject terror.

But he did not know; and the unknown tramp soon lagged far behind. He had neither strength nor desire left to overtake the fleeing lad, since the whistling had ceased, and consciousness of his own misery returned upon him. So, presently he left the highway and limped across the fields toward the woods where instinct told him was safe hiding; and Montgomery reached the stately home of his forefathers in good time. Between the man and the boy there seemed no possible connection, yet circumstances were already linking their lives together as with a chain.

CHAPTER XIV.

ON A SATURDAY AFTERNOON

When Deacon Meakin found that a barn window had had to be broken because of his forgetfulness to mention where he had put the keys, he insisted upon paying for and inserting the new glass himself. This distressed Miss Maitland and delighted Moses; but the new caretaker carried his point, declaring:

"If I can't do that I'll throw up the job. My own hired men, 'fore I moved in, had to pay for their breakin's, and sence I've turned myself into a hired man, well, it's a poor rule that don't work both ways, as the poet says, an' what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander, or visy versy. There'll be no foolin' done on these premises whilst I'm in charge, an' the very first thing I'll tackle is – cleanin' up."

"Why, is that necessary? Beyond the work that comes with every day? Surely, Moses is very neat," protested Eunice, on behalf of her old disabled helper.

"Hm-m. There's neatness – an' neatness; an' my friend Jones, he's a fisherman first, an' a farmer afterward;" returned the deacon, grimly.

The real truth was that the deacon had an idea of the wonderful casket's being hidden somewhere in that barn. As he reasoned with himself: "A barn's the least likely place for robbers to search for hid treasure, whether it is a gold box or a gold mine. Eunice, she is long-headed. She wouldn't want things in the house that might induce folks' breakin's in, more particular sence Widow Sprigg seen that tramp. She was tellin' me 'bout it when I come on the place this mornin'; an' nobody needn't tell me it was just to get a girl out the bay that that winder was stove in. That's all cock-an'-bull yarn; to throw me an' others off the track. But I'll find out, I'll find out."

Which shows how far one's imagination may lead in the wrong direction; and also explains why the curious, but well-meaning, man put himself to endless trouble, yet also did his own part in silencing the rumors of the previous day. Though, of course, his labors occupied him for several days, since the barn was big and his work so thorough. After emptying and refilling every bin and box, after cleaning every set of harness which had or had not been used for years, brushing the few cobwebs from the rafters, sweeping the floors over and over, he repaired to the hay-mow and industriously forked over the whole mass.

While he was engaged in this operation Susanna visited the barn and asked if he had gone crazy. His answer was:

"No, not crazy, but come to common sense. Don't suppose I'd feel very Christian-like, do ye, to loaf around doin' next to nothin' an' lettin' a neighbor's hay heat? Might burn ye all up in your beds."

The widow reëntered the house laughing, but indignant. "Says your hay's in danger o' heatin', Moses! As if you hadn't cured it till it was dry as tinder 'fore you mowed it up. Well, 'twon't do no harm, an' will keep him out of mischief. He's a reg'lar poke-noser, Deacon Meakin is. But he's routed them hens so there won't be no more egg-layin' in high places, breakin' a body's neck to hunt 'em. But, my suz! I wish you could ha' seen that man's face when he handed me over your fishin'-tackle. You'd ha' thought 'twas poison, the way he touched it."

Moses was both angry and amused, but contented himself with remarking:

"Si Meakin never could catch fish even when he was boy goin' to school. He was always a gabbler, an' fish has got sense. They won't bite for noisy folks. Slow an' gentle, bide your time an' keep your mouth shut – that's fishin' for ye. Oh, shall I ever get to go again!"

"Sure. But it's time for your chicken broth. I've stewed it down rich an' tasty, an' there's one good thing 'bout broken legs an' ribs: they ain't broken stummicks. I'd ruther you'd have forty broken legs than the dyspepsy, 'cause when I take the pains to cook good victuals, I like to have 'em et. Now, turn your head a mite. Here's a nice new straw to drink your broth through, an' a pile more for you to chew on, like you're always doin'. Seems if a man must always have somethin' in his mouth, an' if it ain't tobacco it's straws. Spriggs he – "

"Don't give me no 'Spriggs,' to-day; I couldn't stand him. You've told more things 'at Spriggs done in his thirty years of life than would ha' kept most men busy till they was a hundered!" cried Moses, petulantly. "And if Kitty Keehoty, or Monty, ary one, comes 'round, do for pity's sake send 'em up. Here I lie, ball-an'-chained to a bed and things – Oh, dear!"

It was Saturday and a busy time for the housekeeper. She had neither leisure nor inclination to argue with a fretful patient, so went away and left him to himself. But she found his desire for Katharine's society an excellent thing. As she had said of Deacon Meakin, "it kep' her out of mischief" to act as nurse to the injured farmer, and he now delighted in her. The stories of her old life in the Southern city were almost like the fairy-tales she retold from printed books; and her little provincialisms of speech amused him as much as his country dialect did her. She had soon dropped into the habit of taking his meal-trays to him and strictly enforced his eating a "right smart" of all the nourishments provided.

At noon of this Saturday she was perched upon the edge of his cot, daintily feeding him with bits of food she had cut up, when there was a clatter of feet upon the stairs, and, breathless as usual, Montgomery rushed in, announcing, without even a nod to Moses:

"I-it-it's true! Mis' Turner's seen it in her w-w-wood-shed! Widow Sprigg wasn't m-m-mis-took!"

"Say 'mistaken,' Montgomery Sturtevant, and say it slow," corrected Katharine, severely, yet immediately turning an inquiring look toward Uncle Moses. Thus far her efforts to improve her playmate's speech had been a safe secret between the two. They hoped to keep it such until the lad could speak a "whole piece" without stammering.

But the hired man had not observed her remark, or, if he had, probably considered it but one of her naturally dictatorial sort.

"A reg'lar tramp, Monty?" he asked, eagerly.

"R-r-r-regular. Mis' Turner'd put her p-p-pies out to cool on the wood-shed r-r-roof an' they was six seven of 'em, an', sir, w-w-w-when she went t-t-t-to take 'em in one was g-one! Yes, sir! An' she seen somethin' b-b-b-lack scooting cross lots, l-l-li-lic-lick – ety c-c-c-ut!"

"Monty, if I were you, I wouldn't try to say 'lickety-cut,' till – " again reproved the girl-teacher, still forgetful of secrecy. And again Mr. Jones ignored her, asking the boy:

"Where was Bob, son of Mrs. Turner, about that time?"

"F-f-fudge! I don't know. Somewhere's r-r-round, m-maybe. But it wasn't him. 'Twas a b-b-bigger, b-b-be-beard-d-er feller'n him."

"You said 'six seven' pies. If she didn't know how many she made how'd she know she lost any?"

"Well, sir! An' there was old Mr. Witherspoon, d-dr-driv-in' down mountain with a load o' c-c-carrots, he – he seen him cr-cr-cross – in' Perkins's corn-field an' he t-thought 'twas a sc-sc-scarecrow, till it walked. Sc-sc-sc-scarecrows couldn't do that he kn-kn-knew, an' – "

Although Eunice had done her utmost to keep the story of the brass bound box a secret from even her own household, it was inevitable that knowledge of it should come to the ears of the sick man, since it was the chief interest of the many neighbors who called to see him. Yet all he could gain from his callers was the vague suspicion each entertained. He meant now to get at the facts of the case. Montgomery had spread the tale, but had strangely kept silence with him, his old chum. Montgomery should speak now, or Moses would know the reason why; and if he still declined to explain matters he should be punished by being left out of the next fishing-party Uncle Mose would organize – if he ever fished again! He interrupted, saying:

"Never mind Witherspoon an' the carrots, Monty. Nor tramps, nuther. Sence I ain't constable, to do it myself, I hope the poor creatur' won't get 'rested. Don't know where'd he be stowed, anyway, in this benighted Marsden, where there ain't neither a jail nor a touch to one. What I want to know is: What did you find in Eunice's woods?"

Monty did some rapid thinking, the question had been a surprise, but he answered, promptly:

"N-n-not-nothing."

"Montgomery Sturtevant! How dare you? An' I will say that's the first lie I ever heard you tell. You're bad enough, oh, you're as bad as you need to be, but – a liar! Whew!"

The lad sprang to his feet, furious. His hands clenched, and it was well that his accuser was a disabled old man, else the "hot blood of the Sturtevants" might have driven their young descendant to do desperate deeds. As it was, he choked, glared, and finally stammered:

"I-if you was a boy, an' not old l-li-like you are, I'd make you t-t-take that back, or – k-k-kill you! It's the tr-tr-truth! I don't lie! Do I, K-K-Katharine?"

The girl had never seen anybody so angry. Her own temper was quick enough, but its outbursts short-lived, and she certainly had never had the least desire to "kill" anybody. Montgomery looked as if he meant it, and in distress she threw herself upon him forcibly, unclasped his clenched fingers, and begged:

"Don't say that, Monty! Oh, don't say such dreadful things!" Then faced around toward the cot, declaring: "He didn't 'lie,' Uncle Moses. It's true. He didn't find – "

Oh, she had almost betrayed herself in her eagerness to defend her friend.

"Didn't find what, 'Kitty Keehoty'? An' if you didn't yourself, lad, why, you was along at the time. How else – But I'm sorry I used that hateful word. I don't blame you for your spunk. I'd knock a feller down 'at called me 'liar' to my face, even now, old an' bedrid' as I be. I take it back an' call it square – if you will. But tell the hull business now, to your poor old fishin' teacher, an' let's be done with mysteries. Eunice, she's as mum as an oyster; an' Susanna, she talks a lot of explaining yet don't explain nothin'. What's all about, anyway, that's set Marsden crazy? Why, one man come to see me, was tellin' of searchin'-parties ransackin' our woods, prospectin', or somethin'. D'ye ever hear such impudence? Why, if I was constable, I'd arrest every man-jack of 'em that's dared to put pickaxe or spade in our ground! I'd have the law on 'em, neighbor or no neighbor. Well, they won't find a thing. 'Cept maybe a few chestnuts or such. As for gold – Hm-m! But somethin' was found – what was it, Monty?"

The lad's anger was ebbing, but he was still in an unfriendly mood. Besides, he remembered the promise he had made to Aunt Eunice, – broken beforehand, – and resolved that he would keep silence now, even if the harm were already done. So he closed his lips very tightly, and looked steadily out of the window. Katharine followed this good example, and the pair seemed wholly absorbed – in nothing at all.

"Can't you speak? Are you both struck dumb all to oncet? Is that the manners you think's polite?" demanded Mr. Jones, testily.

Then Monty spoke. "Gr-gram-ma sent me to ask how you w-w-were. I'll go an' tell her."

"Won't you stay and play? And, oh, let me tell you. Mr. Deacon Meakin is cleaning up the barn just splendidly, and it will be all ready for – you know what!" cried Katy, excitedly, and forgetful of the keen ears of the man on the cot. She was reminded of them, however, when he again demanded:

"What's that? What'll the barn be ready for? I want you young ones to understand there's to be no monkey shines of any sort whilst I'm laid up. An' you're a sassy pair, the two of ye!"

"I don't mean to be saucy, but you make me. And I guess you must be getting well very fast, 'cause widow says that being cross is a good sign – and I'm sure you're perfectly horrid, so there!" cried Kate, pertly, and seizing Monty's hand hurried him down the stairs.

She had no sooner reached the bottom of them than she regretted her impertinence, and would have returned to apologize, had not Aunt Eunice just then appeared in the doorway, wearing her street things, while Deacon Meakin was also bringing the top-buggy around from the carriage-house. Katharine loved driving, of which luxury she had had very little; and the few times she had been out with Miss Maitland since her arrival at The Maples had been her happiest hours. The whole countryside was rich in autumn coloring, and through her artist father the child had learned to "see things." She was continually surprising all around her by finding such a store of beauty in every simple thing. A yellow or scarlet leaf was far more than that to her; it was a picture of varying tints and shades, which she would study with keenest interest. She had pointed out to Aunt Eunice, upon that last drive up-mountain, at least twenty-five tones of green, and had seized the reins suddenly to stop old Dobbin that she might gaze her full upon a decrepit cedar-tree robed and garlanded with scarlet woodbine. Marsden village might seem dull to her after her city life, but nature more than compensated; so that now her fear was not that she must stay, but that her guardian – perforce – would tire of her.

"Oh, aunty! May I go?"