THE COLONEL'S REVELATION.
"Aunt Betty, what does that 'of T' mean after that queer Colonel's
name?"
"There is no sense in it, dear, of course. The family explained it
this way. The gentleman's real name is Trowbridge. His wife's family
was Dillingham. It was of much older origin than his and she was very
proud of it. When she consented to marry him it was upon the condition
that he would take her name, not she take his. A slight legal
proceeding made it right enough but he added the 'of T.' It was a
tribute to his honesty, I fancy, though it's quite a custom of
Marylanders to do as the Dillinghams did. Here he comes now. I must
ask him about his daughter. He had one, a very nice girl I've heard."
"Coming! Why, Aunt Betty, we haven't had breakfast yet!"
Mrs. Betty laughed.
"Another familiar custom, dear, among country neighbors in this old
State. Why, my own dear mother thought nothing of having a party of
uninvited guests arrive with the sunrise, expecting just the same
cordial welcome she would have accorded later and invited ones. It
never made any difference in the good old days. There was always
plenty of food in the storehouse and plenty of help to prepare it. The
Colonel isn't so very old but he seems to cling to the traditions of
his ancestors. I wonder, will he expect us to feed Billy also! And I
do hope Mrs. Bruce will have something nice for breakfast. The poor
gentleman looks half-starved."
"Oh! yes, she has. We bought a half-dozen pairs of 'broilers' last
night; but she meant them to last for supper, too."
"Run. Bid her cook the lot. There'll be none too many."
"But, Auntie, dear! They cost fifty cents a-piece. Six whole dollars
for one single breakfast? Besides the potatoes and bread and other
stuff! Six dollars a meal, eighteen dollars a day, how long will what
is left of three hundred dollars last, after we pay for Billy, as you
said we must?"
This was on the morning after the Colonel's first call at the Water
Lily. This had been a prolonged one because of--Billy. That wise
animal saw no stable anywhere about and, having been petted beyond
reason by his loving, sad-hearted master, decided that he dared
not--at his time of life--sleep out of doors. At least that was the
way James Barlow understood it, and no persuasion on the part of his
new friends could induce the mule to remain after the Colonel started
for home.
"Tie him to the end of the wharf," suggested Gerald.
"That would be cruel. He might fall into the water in his sleep. We
don't want two to do that in one day," protested Dorothy.
At that point Billy began to bray; so mournfully and continuously that
Mrs. Calvert sent word:
"Stop that beast! We shan't be able to sleep a wink if he keeps that
noise up!"
The Colonel paused once more. His departure had been a succession of
pauses, occasioned by two things: one that the lazy man never walked
when he could ride; the other, that he could not bring himself to part
from his "only faithful friend." The result was that he had again
mounted the stubborn beast and disappeared in the darkness of his
melon-patch.
Now he was back again, making his mount double himself up on the
ground and so spare his rider the trouble of getting off in the usual
way.
"My hearties! Will you see that, lads?" demanded Melvin, coming down
the bank with his towels over his arm. He had promptly discovered a
sheltered spot, up stream, where he could take his morning dip,
without which his English training made him uncomfortable. "Pooh! He's
given the mule and himself with it! He's fun for a day, but we can't
stand him long. I hope Mrs. Calvert will give him his 'discharge
papers' right away."
"If she doesn't I will!" answered Gerald, stoutly. "A very little of
the 'Cunnel' goes a long way with yours truly."
Jim looked up sharply. His own face showed annoyance at the
reappearance of the farmer but he hadn't forgotten some things the
others had.
"Look here, fellows! This isn't our picnic, you know!"
Melvin flushed and ducked his head, as if from a blow, but Gerald
retorted:
"I don't care if it isn't. I'd rather quit than have that old snoozer
for my daily!"
"I don't suppose anybody will object to your quitting when you want
to. The Water Lily ain't yours, though you 'pear to think so. And let
me tell you right now; if you don't do the civil to anybody my
mistress has around I'll teach you better manners--that's all!"
With that Jim returned to the polishing of his useless engine, making
no further response to Gerald's taunts.
"Mistress! _Mistress?_ Well, I'll have you to know, you young
hireling, that I'm my own master. _I_ don't work for any mistress,
without wages or with 'em, and in my set we don't hobnob with
workmen--ever. Hear that? And mind you keep your own place, after
this!"
An ugly look came over Jim's face and his hands clenched. With utmost
difficulty he kept from rising to knock the insolent Gerald down, and
a few words more might have brought on a regular battle of fists, had
not Melvin interposed in his mild voice yet with indignation in his
eyes:
"You don't mean that, Gerald. 'A man's a man for a' that.' I'm a
'hireling,' too, d'ye mind? A gentleman, that you boast you are,
doesn't bully his inferiors nor behave like a ruffian in a lady's
house--or boat--which is the same thing. Gentlemen don't do that--Not
in our Province."
Then, fortunately, Chloe appeared, asking if one of them would go to
the nearest farmhouse and fetch a pail of cream for breakfast.
"They's quality come, so li'l Miss says, an' ole Miss boun' ter hev
t'ings right down scrumptious, lak wese do to home in Baltimo'."
With great willingness each and every lad offered to do the errand;
and in a general tussle to grab her outstretched "bucket" their anger
vanished in a laugh. The "good side" of Gerald came uppermost and he
awkwardly apologized:
"Just forget I was a cad, will you, boys? I didn't mean it. I'd just
as lief go for that cream as not."
"I'd liefer!" said Melvin.
Jim said nothing but the ugly look vanished from his face and it was
he who secured the pail and started with it on a run over the plank
and the field beyond.
"I'll beat you there!" shouted Melvin; and "You can't do it!" yelled
Gerald; while Chloe clasped her hands in dismay, murmuring:
"Looks lak dere won't be much cweam lef' in de bucket if it comes
same's it goes!"
That visit to the farmhouse, short though it was, gave a turn to
affairs on the Water Lily. The farmer told the lads of a little branch
a few miles further on, which would be an ideal place for such a craft
to anchor, for "a day, a week, or a lifetime."
"It's too fur off for them village loafers to bother any. You won't
have to anchor in midstream to get shet of 'em, as would be your only
chance where you be now. I was down with the crowd, myself, last night
an' I was plumb scandalized the way some folks acted. No, sir, I
wasn't aboard the Water Lily nor set foot to be. I come home and told
my wife: 'Lizzie,' says I, 'them water-travellers'll have a lot o'
trouble with the Corner-ites and Jimpson-ites. It's one thing to be
civil an' another to be imperdent.' I 'lowed to Lizzie, I says: 'I
ain't volunteerin' my opinion till it's asked, but when it is I'll
just mention Deer-Copse on the Ottawotta Run. Ain't a purtier spot on
the whole map o' Maryland 'an that is. Good boatin', good fishin',
good springs in the woods, good current to the Run and no malary.
Better 'n that--good neighbors on the high ground above.' That's what
I says to Lizzie."
Jim's attention was caught by the name Deer-Copse. He thought Mrs.
Calvert would like that, it was so much like her own Deerhurst on the
Hudson. Also, he had overheard her saying to Mrs. Bruce: "I do wish we
could find some quiet stream, right through the heart of green woods,
where there'd be no danger and no intruders." From this friendly
farmer's description it seemed as if that bit of forest on the
Ottawotta would be an ideal camping-ground.
There followed questions and answers. Yes, the Water Lily might be
hauled there by a mule walking on the bank, as far as the turn into
the branch. After that, poling and hauling, according to the depth of
the water and what the Lily's keel "drawed," or required. They could
obtain fresh vegetables real near.
"I'm runnin' a farm that-a-way, myself; leastwise me an' my brother
together. He's got no kind of a wife like Lizzie. A poor, shiftless
creatur' with more babies under foot 'an she can count, herself. One
them easy-goin' meek-as-Moses sort. Good? Oh! yes, real good. Too
good. Thinks more o' meetin' than of gettin' her man a decent meal o'
victuals. Do I know what sort of mule Cunnel Dillingham has? Well, I
guess! That ain't no ornery mule, Billy Dillingham ain't. You see, him
and the Cunnel has lived so long together 't they've growed alike.
After the Cunnel's daughter quit home an' married Jabb, Cunnel up an'
sold the old place. Thought he'd go into truck-farmin'--him the
laziest man in the state. Farmin' pays, course, 'specially here in
Annyrunnell. Why, my crop o' melons keeps my family all the year round
an' my yuther earnin's is put in the bank. Cunnel's got as big a patch
as mine an' you cayn't just stop melons from growin' down here in
Annyrunnell! No, sir, cayn't stop 'em! Not if you 'tend 'em right.
They's an old sayin', maybe you've heard. 'He that by the plough would
thrive, Himself must either hold or drive.' The Cunnel won't do ary
one. He leaves the whole thing to his crew o' niggers an', course,
they're some shiftlesser 'n he is. They're so plumb lazy, the whole
crowd, 't they won't even haul their truck as fur as Jimpson's, to
have it loaded on a boat for market, an' that ain't further 'n you
could swing a cat! Losin' his old home an' losin' his gal, an' failin'
to make truck pay, has made him downhearteder'an he was by natur'--and
that's sayin' consid'able. Must ye go, boys? Got any melons? Give ye
as many as ye can carry if ye want 'em. Call again. Yes, the cream's
wuth five cents. Not this time, though. Lizzie'd be plumb scandalized
if I took pay for a mite o' cream for breakfast--such a late one, too.
We had ours couple hours ago. Eh? About Billy? Well, if he war mine,
which he ain't, an' if I war asked to set a price on him, which I
couldn't, I should say how 't he war a fust-class mule, but not wuth a
continental without the Cunnel--nor with him, nuther. If you take one
you'll have to take t'other. Call again. My respects to the lady owns
the house-boat an'--Good-by!"
As the lads thanked their talkative neighbor and hurried down the
fields, Jim exclaimed:
"Was afraid this cream'd all turn to butter before he'd quit and let
us go! But, we've learned a lot about some things. I'm thinking that
Ottawotta Run is the business for us: and I fear--Billy isn't. There
must be other mules in Anne Arundel county will suit us better. Mrs.
Calvert won't want him as a gift--with the Colonel thrown in!"
Mrs. Bruce met them impatiently.
"Seems as if boys never could do an errand without loitering. There's
all those chickens drying to flinders in that oil-stove-oven, and that
horrid old man talking Mrs. Calvert into a headache. Least, he isn't
talking so much as she is. Thinks she must entertain him, I suppose.
The idea! Anybody going visiting to _breakfast_ without being asked!"
But by this time the good woman had talked her annoyance off, and
while she dished up the breakfast--a task she wouldn't leave to Chloe
on this state occasion--Jim hastily condensed the information he had
received and was glad that she promptly decided, as he had, that a
sojourn on the quiet, inland Run would best please Aunt Betty.
"It would certainly suit me," assented the matron.
"Oh! hang it all! What's the use? Hiding in a silly little creek when
there's the whole Chesapeake to cruise in!" cried the disgusted
Gerald, leaning upon the little table and hungrily eyeing the platter
of chicken.
"How can we dare, how could we if we dared, try the Bay? We haven't
any engine to use now," said Jim.
"Well, get one, then! If that girl can afford to run a house-boat and
ask folks to stay on it, she ought to provide something decent for
their entertainment. When _we_ owned the Water Lily we did things up
to the queen's taste. I'm not going to bury myself in any backwoods.
I'll quit first."
"Boy, are you always so cross before breakfast?" asked a girl's voice
over his shoulder, and he turned to see Dorothy smiling upon him.
"No. Except when I'm sent for cream and hear fool talk from a measly
old farmer in a blue smock," he answered, laughing rather foolishly.
"Was it the color of his smock made him measly? And what was that I
heard about quitting?"
"Oh! nothing. I was just fooling. But, I say, Dorothy, don't you let
any old woman coax you into a dead-and-alive hole in the woods. Mark
what I say. They'll be trying it, but the Water Lily's your boat now,
isn't it?"
"So I understood. But from the amount of advice I receive as to
managing it, I think, maybe, it isn't. Well, I've heard you--now
listen to me. 'The one who eats the most bread-and-butter can have the
most cake'--or chicken. They look terrible little, don't they, now
they're cooked? And I warn you, I never saw anybody look so hungry in
all my life--no, not even you three boys!--as that poor, unhappy
Colonel of T, in there with Aunt Betty. Yes, Mrs. Bruce, we're ready
for breakfast at last. But mind what I say--_all we youngsters like
oatmeal_! We _must_ like it this time for politeness sake. Fourteen
eaters and twelve halves of broiled chicken--Problem, who goes
without?"
But nobody really did that. Mrs. Bruce was mistress of the art of
carving and managed that each should have at least a small portion of
the delicacies provided, though she had to tax her ingenuity to
accomplish this.
At the head of her table Mrs. Calvert motioned Chloe to serve her
guest again and again; and each time that Ephraim jealously snatched a
dainty portion for her own plate she as promptly and quietly restored
it to the platter.
Also, the "Skipper" at his own board played such a lively knife and
fork that dishes were emptied almost before filled and Gerald
viciously remarked:
"Aren't as fond of ship's biscuit as you were, are you, Cap'n Jack?"
The Captain helped himself afresh and answered with good nature:
"Oh! yes. Jes' as fond. But I likes a change. Yes, I c'n make out to
relish 'most anything. I ain't a mite partic'lar."
This was too much for the lads and a laugh arose; but the old man
merely peered over his specs at them and mildly asked:
"What you-all laughin' at? Tell me an' lemme laugh, too. Laughin' does
old folks good. Eh, Cunnel? Don't you think so?" he asked, wheeling
around to address the guest of honor.
But that gentleman was too engaged at that moment to reply, even if he
would have condescended so to do. Just now, in the presence of Mrs.
Calvert, whose mere name was a certificate of "quality," he felt
himself an aristocrat, quite too exalted in life to notice a poor
captain of a house-boat.
Breakfast over, Aunt Betty excused herself and withdrew to the shelter
of her little stateroom. Shelter it really was, now, against her
uninvited guest. She had done her best to make his early call
agreeable and to satisfy him with more substantial things than old
memories. They had discussed all the prominent Maryland families, from
the first Proprietor down to that present day; had discovered a
possible relationship, exceedingly distant, he being the discoverer;
and had talked of their beloved state in its past and present glories
till she was utterly worn out.
He had again "given" her his most cherished possession, Billy the
mule; and she had again declined to receive it. Buy him, of course,
Dorothy would and should, if it proved that a mule was really needed.
But not without fair payment for the animal would she permit "him" to
become a member of her family. The Colonel so persistently spoke of
the creature as a human being that she began to think of Billy as a
monstrosity.
The morning passed. Aunt Betty had deserted, and Dorothy had to take
her place as hostess. All her heart was longing for the green shore
beyond that little wharf, where now all the other young folks were
having a lively frolic. It was such a pity to waste that glorious
sunshine just sitting in that little cabin talking to a dull old man.
He did little talking himself. Indeed, warmed by the sunshine on the
deck where he sat, and comfortably satisfied with a more generous meal
than he had enjoyed for many months, the Colonel settled back on the
steamer chair which was Aunt Betty's own favorite and went to sleep.
He slept so long and quietly that she was upon the point of leaving
him, reflecting:
"Even a Calvert ought not to have to stay here now, and watch an old
man--snore. It's dreadful, sometimes, to have a 'family name.' Living
up to it is such a tax. I wish--I almost wish--I was just a Smith,
Jones, Brown, or anybody! I will run away, just for a minute, sure!
and see what happens!"
But, despite the snores, the visitor was a light sleeper. At her first
movement from her own chair, he awoke and actually smiled upon her.
"Beg pardon, little lady. I forgot where I was and just lost myself.
Before I dropped off I was goin' to tell you--Pshaw! I cayn't talk. I
enjoy quiet. D'ye happen to see Billy, anywhere?"
"Certainly. He's right over on that bank yonder and the boys are
trying to fix a rope to his harness, so he can begin to draw the boats
up stream. They want to try and see if it will work. Funny! To turn
this lovely Water Lily into a mere canal-boat. But I suppose we can
still have some good times even that way."
The Colonel shook his head.
"No, you cayn't. Nobody can. They ain't any good times for anybody any
more."
"What a lot of 'anys'! Seems as if out of so many there might be one
good time for somebody. I was in hopes you were having such just now.
What can I do to make it pleasanter for you?"
"Sit right down and let me speak. Your name's Calvert, ain't it?"
"Why, of course. I thought you knew;" answered the girl, reluctantly
resuming her seat.
"Never take anything for granted. I cayn't do it, you cayn't do it.
Something'll always go wrong. It did with your great-grandfather's
brother that time when he hid--Ah! hum! It ought to be yours, but it
won't be. There couldn't be any such luck in this world. Is Billy
lookin' comf'table?"
Billy answered for himself by a most doleful bray. Indeed, he was
resenting the lads' endeavors to remove his harness. Jim fancied he
could fix it better for the purpose of hauling the Water Lily, but the
animal objected, because that harness had never been taken from his
back since it was put on early in the spring. Then the more ambitious
of the negroes who managed the Colonel's truck-farm had equipped Billy
for ploughing the melon-patch. After each day's work the beast had
seemed tired and the gentleman-farmer had suggested:
"Don't fret him takin' it off. You'll only have to put it on again,
to-morrow."
This saved labor and suited all around; and Billy was trying to
explain to these tormenting lads how ill-at-ease and undressed he
would feel, if he were stripped of his regalia.
"Sounds like he was in trouble, poor Billy. But, of course, he is.
Everybody is. You are. If you had that buried--Pshaw! What's the use!
You ain't, you cayn't, nobody could find it, else things wouldn't
have happened the way they did; and your great-grandfather wouldn't
have forgot where he buried it; and it wouldn't have gone out the
family; and since your great-grandfather's brother married my
great-grandmother's sister we'd all have shared and shared alike. It's
sad to think any man would be so careless for his descendants as to go
and do what your great-grandfather's brother did and then forget it.
But--it's the way things always go in this lop-sided world. Ah! um."
The Colonel's breakfast had made him more talkative than had seemed
possible and because she could do no better for her own amusement,
Dorothy inquired:
"Tell me the story of our great-grand-folks and what they buried.
Please. It would be interesting, I think."
"Very well, child, I'll try. But just keep an eye on Billy. Is he
comf'table? I don't ask if he's happy. He isn't. Nobody is."
"Beg pardon, but you are mistaken about that mule. No matter what the
boys and Captain Hurry try to do with him, he manages to get his nose
back to the ground again and eat--Why, he hasn't really stopped eating
one full minute since he came. That makes me think. Will the man who
owns that grass like to have him graze it that way? Isn't grass really
hay? Don't they sell hay up home at Baltimore? Won't it cost a great
deal to let Billy do that, if hay is worth much?"
"You ask as many questions as--as I've heard your folks always do. But
it's no use worryin' over a little hay. It ain't wuth much. Nothing's
wuth anything in Annyrunnell. The only thing in the whole county wuth
a continental is what your great-grandfather's brother buried in the
woods on Ottawotta Run. Deer-Copse was the spot. Buried it in a
brass-bound chest, kept the key, and then forgot. Ah! hum."
"Ottawotta Run? Deer-Copse! Why, that's the very place the boys said
the man said that you say--Oh! Aunt Betty! Aunt Betty! There's a
buried fortune belonging to our family out in the woods! We'll find
it, we _must_ find it, and that will save all your Old Folks their
Home and you won't have to sell Bellvieu!" almost shrieked Dolly,
running to her aunt's stateroom and flinging wide the little door,
regardless of knocking for admittance. But disappointment awaited
her--the stateroom was empty.