Reels and Spindles: A Story of Mill Life

"I thought so. I thought so, so I did."

"Very likely."

"Cease yer haverin', lad. There's matter here."

"Considerable. Upon my clothes, too. The matter seems to be of the same sort – rather brown and sticky, what the farmers call 'loom.'"

"Know you whose coat this be?"

"Never a know I know," he mimicked, enjoying his bit of nonsense with this old friend of his youth.

"It's Fayetty's."

"Your superior cellar digger? Whew!"

He had now become quite as serious as she desired. "Cleena, this is a bad business. This coat was on the back of the man who horsewhipped Mr. Wingate."

"I thought it; but, mind you, me lad, he's not for punishin'."

"Hold on, he certainly is. Don't you know that I – I, a Kaye, am under suspicion of this dastardly thing? Of course you do. Well, then, I'm going to step out from under the suspicion with neatness and despatch. How long have you been hiding this, Cleena?"

"The poor chap's been here ever since. Only once a day he slips out, but he's back by night. Oh, he's safe enough the now."

"Glad of it. Like to have him handy; and as soon as you've finished what you have to say, I'll walk into the village and inform the sheriff, or somebody who should know."

"You'll do naught like it."

"Why, Cleena, woman, have you lost your good sense?"

"Have I saved it, no? Hear me. I know 'twas me poor little Gineral Bonyparty 't did the deed. I knew, soon as I heard the tale o' the coat. You're no so stupid yerself. You recognized it immediate. It was a part o' his uniform he wore a-paradin'. His notion 'twould save the collar clean o' the jacket I fixed him. He's never no care in all his hard life till he met up with me. The poor little gossoon!"

"Cleena, Cleena, turncoat! Wasn't I once, on a day gone by, another 'poor little gossoon'? But come, drop nonsense; it's a disgracefully serious business for me and for your whole family."

"It's because o' the family I say it. The lad's for no punishin'. Not yet. You're big an' strong, an' uncommon light o' heart. It'll do ye no harm. The suspicioned you must be till – Wait lad. You loved the mistress, Salome?"

"Why, Cleena, you know it!"

"Love you her childer?"

"Dearly; for their sakes I must shake off this obnoxious misjudgment." He shrugged his shoulders as if the obloquy were a tangible load that could be shifted.

"Hallam, the cripple, that's walked never a step since a diny dony thing, an' a bad nurse set him prone on the cold stones o' the nasty cellar house where her kind lived. That winter in the town, an' me mindin' the mistress with Miss Amy a babe. How could we watch all the time? He must have the air, what for no? An' her with a face as smooth as bees-wax. Down on the cold, damp stones she'd put him, whiles off with her young man she'd be trapesin', an' him made a cripple for life."

"Yes, Cleena, I remember it all. And how, as Amy tells me, almost a fortune has been spent to restore him. But if ever I earn enough to try again, I'll never rest till every doctor in the world, who understands such things, shall tell me there is no hope."

"Good lad. Aye, aye, good lad!"

The gentleman looked at her in amazement. This had been the old servant's term of commendation when he had refrained from some of his youthful and natural mischievousness. She seemed to mean it just as earnestly now. Suddenly she leaned forward and placed her hands upon his knees.

"Say it again, avick. You'd do all in your power for me darlin' Master Hallam, what for no?"

"What idleness to ask! I would give anything in this world to see him cured."

"The Kayes are aye proud, in troth. Yer honor, lad; even yer honor?"

"Hmm, well – yes. Even my honor."

"Hark to me."

For five minutes thereafter Cleena talked, and not once did her listener interrupt. Her words were spoken in that sibilant whisper that is louder than ordinary speech, and not one of them was lost. When she had finished, she rose and demanded, laying her hand upon Mr. Kaye's shoulder: —

"Now, Mister Fred, will ye leave me gineral be?"

"Yes, Cleena. For the present, till a final test comes, he shall be safe from any interference from me. I'll take him under my personal protection. I'll make myself his friend. He shall have a fair chance. If he fails – "

"He'll no fail! he'll no fail, laddie! Such as him is the Lord's own. Whist, alanna, here he comes."

Fayette approached the entrance, walking stealthily, and casting furtive glances toward that part of the building where the guest had hitherto remained. Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, he crept to the door and tapped it twice.

Cleena nodded her head, and Frederic Kaye opened to admit the boy, who would have retreated when he saw the stranger, had not his arm been caught and held so firmly he could not writhe himself free.

"Leave me alone. What you doin'?"

"Why, I haven't had the pleasure of meeting you since Christmas night."

"'Twasn't me. I never done it. Leave me be. Huckleberries! I'll smash ye!"

"Why, Fayette, I'm astonished. Be quiet, listen. I know you – I know all about you. You have got to behave. You must stay here and do exactly what Cleena and I tell you to do. You'll be treated well. I'll show you how you can make a lot of that money you like so much; upon condition, though – upon the one condition that you simply behave correctly. You are wise enough to understand me. If you disobey or prove tricky – well, I have but to hand you over to the law and you're settled. Do you understand?"

"You mean, if I don't mind, they'll jail me?"

"That's it, exactly. You're cleverer than I hoped."

"All right; I'll do it. Say, I believe Balaam's sick."

"Balaam? Have you got him, too? Are you a horse thief as well as highwayman? Well, poor fellow, it's lucky your lot is cast in this peaceful valley instead of on the frontier. Where is he?"

"I rode him to a place I know. There was plenty o' fodder once, but it's been took. He hain't had much to eat, an' maybe that's it. I was bound old Wingate shouldn't get him."

"Look here, young man, call nobody names. That's not allowed. And now you travel after Balaam. If he's too sick for you to manage alone, I'll go with you; if not, you must do it. How far away is he?"

"Not more 'n a mile."

"Fetch him. I've something to tell you, for your own benefit. I'll teach you how to grow mushrooms, down in that cellar you're digging. Well-grown ones will bring you a dollar a pound. I know, I've raised them. I'd made a fortune only I love daylight and hate darkness. If you can stand the underground part just for fun, you'll make it pay."

"Huckleberries! I'll get him. I'll hurry back."

As if he expected the new enterprise to begin that very night the lad started down the hill. Already there was a manlier bearing about his ill-shaped body. The necessity for hiding which he had felt had been removed, and he was a free lad again.