The next day Captain Shadrach drove to Ostable and spent several hours
in consultation with Judge Baxter. Adjusting matters by correspondence
is a slow process at best, and the Captain, having surrendered
unconditionally, was not the man to delay.
“I can settle more in ten minutes' talk,” he told his partner, “than the
three of us could in a month's letter-writin', especially if I had to
write any of the letters. I never was any hand to write letters; you
know that, Zoeth. And when I do write one the feller I send it to is
liable to come around and ask me to read it 'cause he can't. Like as not
I can't either, if it's had time to get cold, and there we are, right
where we started. No, I'll go and see the Judge and when I fetch port
tonight there'll have been somethin' done.”
This prophecy was fulfilled. Before the Captain left Ostable for the
homeward drive a good deal had been done. Judge Baxter, in his capacity
as administrator, had already been looking into the affairs of his late
client and, as he had expected, those affairs were badly tangled. When
the outstanding debts were paid there would be little left, a thousand
or two, perhaps, but certainly no more.
“So there you are, Shadrach,” he said. “I'm mighty glad you and Zoeth
have decided to keep the girl, but I'm afraid she'll come to you with
very little property of her own. If she is to have the good education
and all the rest that Marcellus wanted her to have I guess it'll be your
money that pays for it. That's the honest truth, and I think you ought
to know it.”
The Captain nodded. “That's all right,” he said. “I expected just about
that, account of what you said the day of the funeral. Me and Zoeth are
about, as fur from bein' rich as the ship's cat is from bein' skipper,
but we've put by a little and the store fetches us in a decent livin'.
We'll take the young-one and do our best by her. Land knows what that
best'll be,” he added, with a dubious shake of the head. “Speakin' for
myself, I feel that I'm about as competent to bring up a child as a clam
is to fly.”
Baxter laughed. “Marcellus seemed confident that you and Hamilton were
perfectly suited to the job,” he said.
“Um; yes, I know; Marcellus had confidence in a good many things, the
stock market included. However, what is to be will be and we all have to
take chances, as the feller that was just married said when he tackled
his wife's first mince pie. You get those guardian papers, whatever
they are, made out, and Zoeth and me'll sign 'em. As for the competent
part--well,” with a chuckle, “that child's pretty competent herself.
I have a notion that, take it five or six years from now, it'll be her
that'll be bringin' us up in the way we should go. I feel a good deal as
if I was signin' on for a long voyage with the chances that I'd finish
mate instead of skipper.”
“Say, Judge,” he added, just before leaving for home, “there's one
thing more I'd like to say. 'Most everybody thinks Marcellus left his
stepdaughter a consider'ble sight of money, don't they?”
“Why, yes; I suppose they do.”
“All right, let 'em think so. 'Twill give 'em somethin' to talk about.
They'll be guessin' how rich the child is instead of markin' off in the
almanac the days afore Zoeth and me head for the poorhouse.”
“Humph! I see. You don't care to have it known that you and your partner
are adopting and supporting her purely from motives of kindness and
generosity.”
“Pooh! pooh! No generosity about it. Besides, Marcellus was kind and
generous enough to us in the old days. Pity if we couldn't take our
trick at the wheel now.”
The Judge smiled. “You're a good deal more willing to take that trick
than you were when I saw you last, Captain Shad,” he observed. “You seem
to have changed your mind completely.”
The Captain grinned. “Well, yes, I have,” he admitted. “Maybe 'tain't
so big a change as you think; I have a habit of blowin' up a squall when
I'm gettin' ready to calm down. But, anyway, that young-one would change
anybody's mind. She's different from any girl of her age ever I saw.
She's pretty as a little picture and sweet and wholesome as a--as a
summer sweet apple. She don't pester, and she don't tease, and she don't
lie--no, sir, not even when I'd consider layin' the course a p'int or
two from the truth a justifiable proceedin'. She's got inside my vest,
somehow or 'nother, and I did think I was consider'ble of a hard-shell.
She's all right, Mary-'Gusta is. I'm about ready to say 'Thank you' to
Marcellus.”
And so it was settled, and Mary-'Gusta Lathrop was no longer a visitor,
but a permanent member of the odd household at South Harniss. She was
delighted when she heard the news, although, characteristically, she
said very little beyond confiding to her two “uncles” that she was
going to be a good girl and not take David into the parlor again. The
remainder of her “things” and belongings were sent over by the Judge
and, in due time, the guardianship papers were signed.
“There!” exclaimed Zoeth, laying down the pen. “That settles it, I
cal'late. Now, Mary-'Gusta, you're our little girl, mine and your Uncle
Shad's, for good and all.”
“Not quite so long as that, Zoeth,” put in the smiling Shadrach. “We'll
hang on to her for a spell, I shouldn't wonder; but one of these days,
a hundred years from now or such matter, there's liable to be a
good-lookin' young feller sparkin' 'round here and he'll want to marry
her and take her somewheres else. What'll you say when it comes to that,
Mary-'Gusta?”
Mary-'Gusta thought it over. “If 'twas a hundred years from now,” she
said, “I guess he wouldn't want me.”
The Captain laughed uproariously. “Well, maybe we can discount that
hundred some for cash,” he admitted. “Make it twelve or fifteen years.
Then suppose somebody--er--er--” with a wink at Zoeth--“suppose Jimmie
Bacheldor, we'll say, comes and wants us to put you in his hands,
what'll you say then?”
The answer was prompt enough this time.
“I'll say no,” asserted Mary-'Gusta, with decision. “Jimmie Bacheldor
hates to wash his hands; he told me so.”
All that summer she played about the house or at the store or on the
beach and, when the fall term began, the partners sent her to school.
They were happy and proud men when Miss Dobson, the primary teacher,
said the girl was too far advanced for the first class and entered her
in the second. “Just natural smartness,” Captain Shadrach declared.
“Natural smartness and nothin' else. She ain't had a mite of advantages,
but up she goes just the same. Why, Teacher told me she considered her a
reg'lar parachute.”
“A parachute's somethin' that comes down, ain't it,” suggested Zoeth,
remembering the balloon ascension he had seen at the county fair.
“Humph! So 'tis. Seems as if 'twasn't parachute she said.
'Twas--'twas--”
“Parasol?” suggested Isaiah, who was an interested listener.
“No, no; nor paralysis neither. Paragon, that's what 'twas. Teacher said
that child was a paragon.”
“What's a paragon?” asked Mr. Chase.
“I don't know. But it's what she is, anyway.”
The paragon continued to progress in her studies. Also she continued,
more and more, to take an interest in the housework and the affairs of
her adopted uncles and Isaiah Chase. Little by little changes came
in the life of the family. On one memorable Sunday Captain Shadrach
attended church. It was the first time in a good many years and whether
the congregation or Zoeth or the Captain himself was the more astonished
at the latter's being there is a question. Mary-'Gusta was not greatly
astonished. It was the result of careful planning on her part, planning
which had as its object the relieving of Mr. Hamilton's mind. Zoeth
never missed a Sunday service or a Friday night prayer meeting. And,
being sincerely religious, he was greatly troubled because his friend
and partner took little interest in such things.
Shadrach's aversion to churches dated back to a sermon preached by a
former minister. The subject of that sermon was Jonah and the whale. The
Captain, having been on several whaling voyages in his younger days, had
his own opinion concerning the prophet's famous adventure.
If the minister had been a younger and more tactful man the argument
which followed might have ended pleasantly and the break have been
avoided. But the clergyman was elderly, as set in his ways as the
Captain was in his, and the disagreement was absolute and final.
“The feller is a regular wooden-head,” declared Shadrach, hotly. “I was
willin' to be reasonable; I was willin' to give in that this Jonah man
might have been out of his head and, after he was hove overboard and
cast ashore, thought he'd been swallowed by a whale or somethin' or
'nother. I picked up a sailor once who'd drifted around in a boat for a
week and he couldn't remember nothin' of what happened after the first
day or so. If you'd told him he'd been swallowed by a mackerel he
wouldn't have said no. But I've helped kill a good many whales--yes, and
I've helped cut 'em up, too--and I know what they look like inside. No
man, whether his name was Jonah or Jehoshaphat, could have lived three
days in a whale's stomach. How'd he breathe in there, eh? Cal'late the
whale had ventilators and a skylight in his main deck? How'd the whale
live all that time with a man hoppin' 'round inside him? Think I'd live
if I--if I swallowed a live mouse or somethin'? No, sir-ee! Either
that mouse would die or I would, I bet you! I've seen a whole parcel
of things took out of a whale's insides and some of the things had been
alive once, too; but they wasn't alive then; they was in chunks and part
digested. Jonah wasn't digested, was he? And the whale wasn't dead
of dyspepsy neither. That's what I told that minister. 'You try it
yourself,' I says to him. 'There's whales enough back of the Crab Ledge,
twenty mile off Orham,' said I. 'You're liable to run in sight of 'em
most any fair day in summer. You go off there and jump overboard some
time and see what happens. First place, no whale would swallow you; next
place, if it did 'twould chew you or sift you fine first; and, third
place, if you was whole and alive that whale would be dead inside of
ten minutes. You try it and see.' Good fair offer, wasn't it? But did
he take it up? Not much. Said I was a scoffer and an infidel and didn't
know anything about Scripture! 'I know about whales, anyhow,' I told
him. And he slammed off and wouldn't speak to me again. Don't talk to
ME! I'll never go inside that meetin'-house again.”
And he never had until Mary-'Gusta coaxed him into it. She was a regular
attendant at Sunday school, but on Sunday mornings in pleasant weather
she had been accustomed to take a walk with Shadrach. These walks they
both enjoyed hugely, but one bright morning she announced that she was
not going for a walk, but was going to church with Uncle Zoeth. Shadrach
was disappointed and astonished.
“Land sakes! What's this mean?” he demanded. “Thought you liked to walk
with me.”
“I do. I like it very much. But I don't think it's fair for me to do it
every Sunday. Uncle Zoeth ALWAYS goes to church and he feels real bad
'cause you don't go. He told me so. He says the church folks think you
won't go to Heaven when you die and that makes him feel dreadful. He's
goin' to Heaven, you know.”
“Oh, he is, eh?”
“Of course. He couldn't help it, he's so good. Don't you think he'll go
to Heaven, Uncle Shad?”
“Who? Zoeth? Sartin I do. If he don't, nobody will.”
“Wouldn't it make you feel bad if you was afraid he wouldn't go there?”
“Humph! Maybe so, but I ain't afraid.”
“I know, but he is afraid YOU won't. He thinks an awful lot of you; as
much as you do of him, you know. Uncle Shad, I'm goin' to meetin' with
Uncle Zoeth this mornin', and I want you to go with us; will you?”
The Captain pulled his beard.
“Look here, Mary-'Gusta,” he said. “What's all this about, anyway? You
don't cal'late I'd take you walkin' Sundays if I thought 'twas wicked,
do you?”
“No, sir; but Uncle Zoeth thinks not goin' to church is wicked. If you
and I went to church with him 'twould please him ever so much.”
“Maybe so, but 'twould please you and me if he went walkin' with us.
I've asked him times enough. Why can't he do what I want as well as my
doin' what he wants?”
“'Cause he thinks it's wrong. You don't think goin' to church is wrong,
do you, Uncle Shad?”
Shadrach shook his head. “By fire!” he exclaimed. “You're a regular
young lawyer, you are, Mary-'Gusta. Judge Baxter hasn't got you beat
when it comes to makin' out a case. Look here, now; be honest; hadn't
you rather go to walk with me than go to that meetin'-house?”
“Yes, sir,” frankly; “I'd rather.”
“Oh, you had, eh? But all the same you want us to give up our walk and
go to church every Sunday just to please Zoeth. Is that it?”
Mary-'Gusta took his hand. “No, sir,” she said shyly, “but I thought
perhaps we could divide up. You and I could go with him one Sunday and
to walk the next Sunday. That would be fair. I'm his little girl same as
I am yours, Uncle Shad, ain't I?”
Shadrach was stumped, and he went to church that Sunday morning. The
sermon had nothing to do with Jonah or the whale, so his feelings
were not ruffled. Zoeth was mightily pleased and Mary-'Gusta was happy
because he was. The plan of alternate Sundays was adopted. It was but
one instance of the “managing” quality which the girl possessed. Isaiah
declared that she wound all hands around her little finger, but even he
seemed to enjoy the winding.
As she grew older Mary-'Gusta learned more and more concerning her
uncles, their habits, their contrasting temperaments and their past
history. She learned a little of Hall and Company, the prosperous firm
of which they had been partners, with Marcellus Hall, her stepfather,
as the head. Isaiah told her a little concerning the firm: “No bigger on
Cape Cod,” he declared. She asked why it had not continued in business.
Mr. Chase brusquely answered that it hadn't, that's all, and would not
give any particulars. She questioned the steward concerning Shadrach
and Zoeth. The former had never married; that was funny; why hadn't he?
Isaiah said he did not know. Hadn't Uncle Zoeth ever married, either?
Yes, Zoeth had married.
“Who did--” began Mary-'Gusta, but Isaiah cut short the catechizing.
“You mustn't ask such questions,” he declared.
“Why mustn't I?”
“'Cause you mustn't. Your uncles wouldn't like it a mite if they knew
you was pryin' into their affairs. You mustn't ever say a word about
your Uncle Zoeth's gettin' married.”
“Wouldn't he like me any more if I did?”
“No, you bet he wouldn't; he'd--I don't know's he wouldn't come to hate
you. And you mustn't say it to Cap'n Shad neither.”
The idea of being hated by Uncle Zoeth was a dreadful one and
Mary-'Gusta avoided the tabooed subject. But she thought about it a good
deal. She noticed that in neither of the two lots in the cemetery, one
where the Goulds were buried and the other the Hamiltons, was a stone
erected to the memory of the “beloved wife of Zoeth Hamilton,” although
other beloved wives of the former generations were commemorated. This
seemed odd. As her education progressed she read more and more and from
her reading she built up several imaginative romances with Zoeth as the
hero, and as the heroines beautiful creatures who had died young, in
shipwreck, probably, and whose names were not to be mentioned because.
. . . She could not find a satisfactory solution of the because.
Shipwreck or burial at sea she deduced from the fact of there being no
grave in the cemetery. Mothers and fathers of several of her schoolmates
had been buried at sea. Perhaps the late Mrs. Hamilton had been so
buried. But Zoeth had never been a seafaring man.
One Saturday afternoon--she was about ten years old at the time--she
was in the garret. The garret had taken the place of the old surrey at
Ostable, and thither she retired when she wished to be alone to read, or
play, or study. This afternoon she was rummaging through the old trunks
and sea chests in search of a costume for Rose. It was to be a masculine
costume, of course, for there was no feminine apparel in that garret,
but in the games which the girl played when alone with her dolls, Rose,
the largest of the family, was frequently obliged to change her sex with
her raiment.
Mary-'Gusta had ransacked these trunks and chests pretty thoroughly on
previous occasions, but this time she made a discovery. In an old trunk
which had obviously belonged to Captain Shadrach she found a sort of
pocket on the under side of the lid, a pocket closing with a flap and a
catch. In this pocket were some papers, old receipts and the like, and a
photograph. The photograph interested her exceedingly. It was yellow and
faded but still perfectly distinct.
There was a large building standing on posts fixed in the sand, and
beyond it were wharves and a glimpse of schooners and the sea. Barrels,
a good many barrels, were piled upon the wharves and at the end of the
building. Over the door was the sign, “Hall and Company, Wholesale Fish
Dealers.”
This sign of itself was interesting enough. Evidently here was the
place where her stepfather and Captain Gould and Mr. Hamilton had done
business years before. But more interesting still was the group of men
standing on the platform under the sign. There were four of these men,
dressed in clothes and hats which--especially the hats--looked queer and
old-fashioned now. Two of the men Mary-'Gusta recognized, or thought
she did. They were Captain Shadrach and Mr. Hamilton. Much younger they
looked, of course; their hair was not gray and Zoeth wore a beard, while
Shadrach had only a mustache. But, in spite of these things and the
odd clothes they wore, she was sure she recognized them. And, having
recognized them, she also recognized the man in the center of the group
as her stepfather, Captain Marcellus Hall. The fourth man, evidently
younger than the others, a handsome, square-shouldered chap in his
shirtsleeves, she did not know.
She turned the photograph over. On its back was written:
Firm of Hall and Company. Taken August 19th, 1877.
Marcellus Hall
Zoeth J. Hamilton
Edgar S. Farmer
Shadrach B. Gould.
The names were in differing handwritings. Evidently each man had signed
the photograph.
Mary-'Gusta scrutinized the photograph again. Then, with it in her hand,
she descended to the kitchen. Isaiah was sitting in a chair by the stove
reading a newspaper.
“Mr. Chase,” said Mary-'Gusta, “who was Edgar S. Farmer?”
If that kitchen chair had been the never-to-be-forgotten piece of
furniture with the music box beneath it and that box had started to
play, Isaiah could not have risen more promptly. He literally jumped
to his feet and the paper flew from his hands. He whirled upon the
questioner.
“What?” he demanded. “What's that you said?”
He was pale, actually pale. Mary-'Gusta was frightened.
“Why--why, I just asked--” she faltered, “I just asked who--who--What
CAN be the matter, Mr. Chase?”
Isaiah waved his hand. “WHAT did you ask?” he demanded.
“I asked--I asked who Edgar S. Farmer was, that's all. I didn't mean--I
didn't know--”
“Be still! Be still, for mercy sakes! What do you know about Ed Farmer?
Who told you about him?”
The girl was more frightened than ever. Isaiah's next move did not tend
to reassure her. He strode to the door, looked up the lane, and closed
and locked the door before she could find words to answer.
“Now, then,” he said, coming close to her and looking her straight in
the face, “who told you about Ed Farmer?”
“Nobody told me. Honest, they didn't.”
“Somebody must have told you; else how did you know?”
Mary-'Gusta hesitatingly held up the photograph. “It's written on this,”
she said.
Mr. Chase snatched it from her hand. He looked at the picture and then
at her.
“It's written on the back,” went on the girl.
Isaiah turned the photograph over.
“Humph!” he said suspiciously. “I see. Who gave this to you?”
“Nobody gave it to me. I found it in an old trunk up in the attic.”
“Humph! You did, eh? Well, I swan to man! Have you showed it to anybody
else but me?”
“No, sir. Honest, I haven't. I just found it this minute.”
“Well, I swan, that's lucky. 'Twas in a trunk, eh? Whose trunk?”
“One of Uncle Shad's, I guess.”
“Humph! I presume likely. Well, what made you ask about--about the one
you did ask about?”
“I knew who the others were. I knew my father and Uncle Zoeth and Uncle
Shad. But I didn't know who the Farmer one was. It says 'Firm of Hall
and Company,' and all those names are signed. So I thought maybe Mr.
Farmer was--”
“Never you mind who he was. He was a darned blackguard and his name ain't
mentioned in this house. That's all I can tell you and you mustn't ask
any more questions. Why, if your Uncle Zoeth--yes, or your Uncle Shad
either--was to hear you askin' about him--they'd--I don't know what
they'd do. I'm goin' to tear this thing up.”
He would have torn the photograph across, but the girl seized his hands.
“Oh, no, you mustn't,” she cried. “Please don't. It isn't mine. It
belongs to Uncle Shad. You mustn't tear it--give it to me.”
Isaiah hesitated. “Give it to you?” he repeated. “What'll you do with
it?”
“I'll put it right back where I found it. Truly, I will. I will, honest,
Mr. Chase.”
Isaiah reflected. Then, and with considerable reluctance, he handed her
the photograph.
“All right,” he said, “only be sure you do it. And look here,
Mary-'Gusta, don't you ever touch it again and don't you ever tell
either of your uncles or anybody else that you found it. You hear?”
Mary-'Gusta said that she heard. She ran to the garret and replaced the
photograph in the pocket of the trunk. She did not mention it again nor
did Isaiah, but thereafter when her active imagination constructed a
life romance with Mr. Zoeth Hamilton as its hero, that romance contained
a villain also, and the villain's name was Edgar S. Farmer. And the firm
of Hall and Company, her father's firm, had a fourth and most mysterious
partner who was a blackguard.