a good time," he said to Jasper.
"I should rather think so," said Jasper, lifting a bright face.
"I suppose now you don't know what time it is," said the little Doctor.
"Oh, it's early, I know," said Jasper, easily; "why, we have hardly got
through supper, it seems to me."
"Then you must have been a good while at supper," said Doctor Fisher,
composedly, and pulling out his big silver watch, "for it's nine
o'clock."
"Nine o'clock!" exclaimed Jasper and Ben together.
"Fact." Doctor Fisher nodded so briskly that his spectacles slipped down
to the end of his nose, "And so it's time for you to hop into bed,
Jasper."
"O dear!" said Jasper, with a glance at the silken canopy and covers,
and trying not to show a wry face.
"In with you! I give you ten minutes." The little Doctor laughed and
went off, and immediately the room was in a bustle, Ben helping along
the operation of getting Jasper to bed. And presently the light was out
and Jasper was saying, "Oh, thank you, Ben, ever so much. Good night."
"Good night," said Ben, and he shut the door softly and went downstairs.
It was so still all through the big mansion--little Dick and Phronsie of
course being abed and asleep hours ago, and all the other children away.
Ben opened the big front door and stepped out on the stone porch. Oh,
how good the crisp air was! He sniffed it in, and threw back his broad
shoulders for another and another breath; then he hurried into the house
to get his coat and cap,--and, jamming this last on his head, he thrust
his hands in his pockets, and set off for a walk. Yes, they must--the
merry sleighs full--be well on their way home by this time, because
Grandpapa, who, of course, was going with them, had told Mother Fisher
he should bring them home early.
Oh, how good the air was! Ben thought he hadn't tasted any quite so
sweet since he left Badgertown--and he deserted the sidewalk now, having
reached the thoroughfare, and struck out in the middle of the road,
where it was more fun crunching down the snow. How long he walked he
didn't know. Suddenly sleigh-bells jingled,--and merry voices,--and,
yes, there was Polly's laugh,--and, why, of course, there was
Grandpapa's voice,--and then,--
"_Oh, there he is!_" screamed Polly. "_Oh, Ben!_" stretching out her
arms.
And "Hop up here," called Grandpapa, his cheeks rosy under the white
hair. And up Ben went like a flash! One word to the driver of the four
horses and off they went, turning first in the direction from which they
had just come--the other big sleigh following fast.
"Oh, Grandpapa, we are going to give Ben a sleigh-ride," cried Polly, in
a glad little voice, and clapping her brown gloves together.
"Of course," said Grandpapa; "we are going to give him a little one this
time, and a big one, all made up on purpose for him, some other night."
XXV
IT WAS POLLY WHO HEARD IT FIRST
"Yes," said Madam Van Ruypen, folding her long hands in her lap. She sat
at one corner of her library fire, in a carved high-backed chair, and
the young minister at the other end. Both were regarding the leaping
flames.
"It will be best for you to return home to-morrow; tell the mother all
my plans for the children, and ask her permission for me to put them
into school," went on the old lady, not raising her gaze from the
crackling hickory logs.
"Yes, Madam Van Ruypen," said the minister.
"And then write me at once what she says. Meantime, I shall be
consulting Mr. King as to the school. It has to be a peculiar kind, of
course, none of the high-fangled ones, but a good, substantial, ordinary
sort of one, dominated by a man with a conscience. And where shall we
find such an one--goodness knows, I'm sure I don't," she lifted her
hands in dismay.
Mr. St. John, seeing that something was expected of him, volunteered the
remark, "Oh, there must be such institutions; they are so much needed."
"Just like a minister," retorted the old lady, who was nothing if not
blunt, especially if it fell out that she took a liking to a body; so
now she added, "Oh, you'll do to preach from a desk; but as to practical
things, such as the selection of a school, why, what can you, in the
name of sense, be expected to know, either about them or the masters who
run them?"
A little spot of red began to show itself on the fair cheek, and twice
the young minister opened his mouth. But he thought better of it. Then
he laughed. "Perhaps so," he said, with a nod, and stretched his hands
to the blaze.
Madam Van Ruypen laughed too. Having never meant to give offence, that
danger had not occurred to her. But she had been suddenly overcome, as
it were, with a mortal terror, and all on account of those mountain
children. What to do with them now she had sent for them she had found
herself unable to answer. She couldn't send them back home, that would
be cruelty indeed; and until the plan for the school popped up she was
in a miserable state enough. So it was quite cheery to hear the bright
little laugh bubble out from the other end of the fireplace, and she
laughed so heartily in echo, that Mr. St. John tried it again.
"Well, now I feel better," she said, wiping her eyes with her
lace-trimmed handkerchief. "You can't know, Mr. St. John, how very much
I have been tried in this matter."
"I suppose so," he said, the laugh dropping away. Really, when he came
to think of it again, the wonder grew how she came to do this thing at
all, and then, how she dared to keep on so bravely. And that recalled
"old money-bags"; how he blamed himself now for calling her so in his
thoughts on those Sundays in the little mountain parish church! Could
she be the same person as this woman, wiping her eyes, so touched by the
little cheer he had given to her perplexity? He cleared his throat. "It
was noble of you," he said, his own eyes glistening.
"Oh, now;" she turned on him a formidable face; the white puffs and
Roman nose seemed to grow bigger. "You would do better to stop right
there," she said, raising her forefinger, "else I shall wish you had
gone home to-day," all of which made him feel decidedly like a schoolboy
about to be whipped. And he sat back in his chair, quite depressed.
"Let us put our minds on those children, Richard," she said at last,
breaking the silence that seemed to weigh on one of them like lead. "I
don't like your name, St. John; it's well enough for a grand person, but
you're a minister, and probably always will be a plain man, so I am
going to call you Richard."
"If you only would!" he cried, the brightness coming back to eye and
cheek, not caring in the least for the rest of her words.
"So you like it,--eh?"
"Very much. I am, as you say, a plain man."
"Besides being something of a boy," she added, with a twinkle in her
sharp eyes.
"Besides being something of a boy," he repeated, laughing again.
"Well, then, Richard it is," she declared, with great satisfaction. "Now
then, the first thing is to settle those children in some good school,
or rather in two good schools, as soon as can be done. It isn't good for
them to be here, I see that. I don't know in the smallest degree what to
do with them, at least as far as the girl is concerned, and it is bad
for them to be entertained all the while." Not a word about the
demoralization of her houseful of servants, whose ill-concealed wrath
and dismay were smouldering over the infliction of Elvira. "And they
ought to be getting some education. Well, to-morrow you must go back and
straighten it all out with the mother. That's settled." Then she sat
quite erect to draw a long breath of enjoyment. "Now I'll tell you a
piece of news," she said; "it's a secret as yet."
Richard leaned forward with great interest. He certainly was boy enough
to enjoy a secret, and his eyes sparkled.
"I've engaged the whole front of the mountain hotel, the floor above the
office, for next summer," she said. Then she waited to see the effect of
her announcement.
"You're coming up?" cried Richard, in a glad voice.
"It looks like it," said the old lady, grimly, but vastly pleased at his
tone, "and I want you to engage the Potter Camp for me."
"And you'll bring,--oh, now I know what you are going to do!" exclaimed
the young minister, with great delight.
"No, you don't know in the least what I am going to do, young man," she
retorted. "Oh, go along with you, Richard," and she laughed again, this
time as light-heartedly as if her years matched his own. "Yes, I wrote
yesterday to the manager to secure the rooms. You must get the camp for
me."
"I surely will," promised Richard with huge satisfaction.
"And tell John Bramble if he doesn't bring my boxes and express matter
up to the hotel quicker this summer than he did last year,
I'll--I'll--report him to the government. Dear me, I want to scold
somebody. Oh, and be sure, Richard, whatever you forget,--and I suppose
you'll leave out the most important things,--don't forget to
tell--what's that man Handy's name?"
"Shin?"
"Shin! Oh, what a name!"
"Well, we always call him that up in the mountains, because he can shin
up the trees quicker than anybody else," said the young minister,
laughing, "but his real name is--"
"Oh, well, if he's been called Shin so long, why Shin let it be," said
Madam Van Ruypen, composedly; "I'm sure I don't care. Well, be sure and
tell him he's engaged for the summer. There will be plenty he can do
when we aren't at camp."
"That's fine," cried Richard, clapping his hands together smartly,
"because you see Shin has so much time when he isn't hired for camping
and guiding."
"And don't let those other children expect to come down. Whatever you
do, don't raise any such hopes." The old lady here turned such a
distressed face on him that the best he could do was to laugh again.
"I'll remember," he said brightly.
And Madam Van Ruypen slept through the whole night, having the first
good sound repose she had enjoyed since the visitors had arrived.
But up at the King household--O dear me! It was Polly who heard it
first.
She was dreaming of the difficulty of making a little pink silk cushion
out of a mussy end of flaming yellow ribbon that Candace seemed to have
insisted on her using; and as she worked away, wishing it was pink, and
trying to make herself believe it was pink, she saw it grow yellower and
yellower, till finally she threw it down. And that twitched the needle
and knotted up the silk thread, and then off her thimble flew with a
little click--snip, and "O dear me!" exclaimed Polly, and opened her
eyes.
She was just going to say, "Oh, I'm so glad I was only dreaming, and
'tisn't that hateful yellow cushion in reality," when another little
click--snip, just like the one when her thimble dropped off in her
dream, struck her ear. This time it was a "really truly" noise, and no
dream, and Polly flew up in her pretty bed and leaned on her elbow.
Yes, and not only a click--snip, but a _sh--flop!_ or something that
sounded as much like that as anything that could be put into words.
Polly flew out of bed, tossed on her pink wrapper, and only stopping to
think, "I mustn't go into Mamsie's room, for that will wake King
Fisher,"--Papa Doctor was away with a sick patient out of town,--she
crept softly off to Ben's room, just around the angle of the hall, and,
flying up to the bed, she gave him a little nip on the shoulder.
"Polly!" exclaimed Ben, sitting bolt upright, and, dashing his hands
across his eyes, he was wide awake in an instant. "What's the matter?"
"Oh, I don't know," said Polly, huddling up to the side of the bed,
"only hush, do, the door's shut, but don't speak loud. There's such a
funny noise; it sounds downstairs, Ben," she said, with a little shiver.
"Funny noise!" said Ben. "Well, now, you creep back to your room and
lock the door, and stay in there, Polly."
"Oh, Ben, don't go down," she cried, seizing his arm.
"Do as I say." He never spoke in such a tone before, and Polly, who had
no thought of disobeying, found herself soon in her own room, wishing
that she hadn't called Ben, and longing to run out and help, and a
thousand things besides.
Ben meantime was out in the hall, a stout walking-stick in his hand,
hanging over the banister. Yes, Polly was right, there certainly was a
funny noise, and it appeared to come from downstairs, too. It wasn't
just what he supposed would be raised by anybody getting in to rob the
house; it was more like something dropping; and then another sound, like
a flap, flap of the window shade. But it was just as well to act
speedily, and yet it must be done with caution; so he crept off to the
back hall, where he could press the button that gave the signal to the
men in the stable.
And he presently saw the lights flashing as they turned their dark
lanterns a second toward the big stone mansion. Well, whatever the
trouble was, they would soon find out, for Thomas had a key for just
such possible emergencies, and the search would--
Ben never finished it in his mind, for a sharp noise, so near him that
it seemed as if the person making it must be close to his heels, sent
every bit of blood away from his cheeks. He couldn't turn, for what
might be back of him in the darkness? It wasn't the click of a pistol
exactly,--Ben, in all his cold terror felt struck with the little
resemblance to any such noise,--still, as there was nothing else so
likely to be that very thing, why, it must be, he concluded.
Downstairs he could hear, with senses sharpened, that Thomas had entered
the house and that the search had begun in earnest. Well, somebody,
whoever it was with that pistol, would probably do something more than
click it before long, when another noise, this time a little farther
off, a soft, pat--pat, sent his mind in another direction. Either there
were two burglars who had worked their way upstairs, or the one with the
pistol had heard the noise downstairs, and concluded to try for an
escape.
And now Ben's blood was up, and he softly followed in the direction of
the sound, grasping his stick hard and setting his teeth. "It'll be
easier for me than for the other fellow, as I know the way," flashed
through his mind.
But he didn't seem to get much nearer. Of course he would stop when
there was no noise, then the soft pat--pat would begin at a further
remove, and on Ben would creep after it.
He must at least keep the trail till Thomas and the other serving-man
could put in an appearance on that third floor. What,--ah, there he is!
Again the click! And the portiere twitched out by the sudden movement of
a hand. Ben swung his stout stick above his head, and brought it down to
hear a squeal of fright and pain, and Jocko, whose tail only had
suffered, leaped into his face.
Over went Ben, the stick, and monkey together, just escaping the long
stairs, as Thomas and his men rushed up, turning the lanterns on every
side to find the cause. Doors were thrown open and frightened faces
appeared, while Polly was already down on her knees by his side. "Oh,
Ben," then her fingers felt Jocko's hairy coat.
"That beast!" It was all Ben could get out. Then he lay back on the
floor and laughed till he was so weak he could hardly breathe. "He's
a--sweet--dear--little thing--" at last he made out to say,
"isn't--he--Polly?" he ended gustily.
XXVI
"COULD YOU TAKE HIM, BEN?"
"Of course," said Grandpapa, "after this, Jocko must go."
And "Of course," echoed every one else. "But where?"
"Oh, do send him to the Zoo," begged Polly, "do, Grandpapa dear, and
then we can go and see him sometimes and take him nice things to eat."
"I don't believe Ben will want to go very often," said Jasper, with a
little laugh, "will you, old fellow?"
"Yes," said Ben, with another laugh, "as long as I don't meet him in the
dark, when he jumps at me from a curtain, I'd just as soon see him as
not."
"Oh, I'm so very glad he is going to the Zoo," said Polly, with a long
breath of relief, "he'll be real happy there with such lots of other
monkeys."
But Jocko didn't go to the Zoo after all with "such lots of other
monkeys," for Candace, hearing the news of the disturbance by supposed
burglars at Mr. King's big mansion, and the consequent plan to send
Jocko away, came waddling up the driveway as fast as she could.
"Here's Candace!" shouted Joel, who spied her first. "Come on, Pip, I
guess she's got some candy sticks."
But Candace was so out of breath when she reached the big stone steps
that she sank down to rest. If she had any candy sticks in the big black
woollen pocket she always wore at her side, it couldn't have been
announced at present. The truth was, however, that in the hurry and
excitement of leaving the little shop, she had forgotten them. Whereat
Joel was wofully disappointed, but he covered it up as best he might,
seeing her chagrin when she pulled out all her things and shook the
empty pocket.
"Oh, me, I've clar forgot 'em," she mourned, holding up her black hands
in dismay, as the boys hung over her, still hoping that the candy sticks
might be hiding in a corner of the big pocket.
"Shake it again, Candace! Shake it again!" cried Joel. "Here, let me,"
he begged.
"No, no, Mas'r Joel," protested Candace, in alarm, and putting both
hands over the generous black woollen pocket, "you'll done shake it to
def, you will. Dey ain' dah, I tell you. Oh, me, to tink I sh'd a-gone
an' forget dem. An' it's all about dat ar monkey. Oh, whee! I ain' no
bref lef'," and she rocked back and forth on the step, fanning herself
with her black alpaca apron, without which she was never attired for a
visit up at the King mansion.
"Well, Jocko isn't going to stay here any longer," announced Joel,
briskly. "He's going up to the Zoo."
"Oh, no, he ain', Mas'r Joel," contradicted Candace, stopping her
fanning to seize his arm.
"Yes, he is, Candace," declared Joel, bringing his black eyes on her in
surprise; "he's got to go, he's been so naughty. Grandpapa says it isn't
safe to keep him here any longer."
"Well, he ain' goin' to dat ar Zoo," protested Candace, bobbing her
black bonnet, from which depended a big figured lace veil. "No, no,
Mas'r Joel! Oh, your Grandpa won't neber send him dar," and she clasped
her hands, while the tears came into her eyes.
"Yes, he will," stoutly repeated Joel, twisting away to stand still and
regard her in intense astonishment, "'cause he said so, and my Grandpapa
always does just what he says he will, Candace King."
Whenever the children wished to be very impressive with her they called
her "Candace King." This usually overcame her with delight. But on this
occasion she didn't notice it at all, but, beginning to blubber, she
rocked back and forth on the step, saying between the gusts of her
distress, "Oh, no, he won't, neber in all dis worl'."
"I'm going for Polly," said Joel, at his wits' end, and springing past
her on the steps. Pip, not to be left alone with that singular old black
woman, who now terrified him greatly, pattering after, the two raced
into the house.
"Polly!" called Joel. "O dear! Where is she?"
"Here!" cried Polly, bobbing out of the music room, her practice hour
being just over. "What is the matter, Joe?"
"Oh, Candace is out on the steps," said Joel, "and I guess she's got a
fit."
"Candace out on the steps," cried Polly, "and in a fit! O dear me!" and
she rushed out.
To be sure, there sat Candace, rocking back and forth, her face covered
with her big hands, and wailing miserably.
"Oh, Candace!" and Polly sank down on the step beside her and throwing
her arm around the big black figure, she put her cheek up against one of
the black hands, "do tell me what is the matter." Joel and Pip, who had
both followed, ranged themselves on either side.
"He won' send him away to de Zoo, will he, honey?" gasped Candace.
"What?" cried Polly, for the words were so muffled back of Candace's big
hands, it was impossible to hear a word. "What do you say, Candace?"
So Candace went all over it again; but it wasn't much better so far as
Polly's hearing it was concerned, and at last Polly gave it up in
despair and started to her feet.
"I don't know what you are talking of, Candace," she declared, "so I'm
going to get Grandpapa to come out and see what is the matter with you."
"Oh, no, honey, don'!" and Candace grasped Polly's gown. "You arsk him,
dat's a good chile. Arsk him for pore ol' Candace," and she lifted her
streaming eyes piteously.
"Ask him what?" cried Polly. "I don't know what you want, Candace. I
haven't heard a word that you've been saying."
"She's awful funny," observed Joel; "I told you she was going to have a
fit." With that Pip retreated suddenly and ran over to Polly's side,
around whose gown he stared with very wide eyes at the big figure on the
steps.
"She said something about the monkey," continued Joel, "and--"
"Yes, dat's it," cried Candace, delighted to be understood by somebody.
"Oh, he won' send him to de Zoo, will he, Miss Polly?" she begged.
"Indeed he will," declared Polly, positively. "And you ought not to want
Grandpapa not to send him," she said, much displeased, "for Jocko's been
very naughty; very naughty indeed, Candace."
"Den he won' gib him to me," wailed Candace, releasing Polly's gown, and
dropping her head so that the big figured lace veil trailed on the step.
"O me--O my!"
"What's that you say, Candace?" cried Polly, dropping down on her knees
again. "Do you want Jocko?" feeling as if she couldn't believe her ears.
"Ob course; dat's what I've been tellin' you and Mas'r Joel all de
bressed time," said Candace, raising her head to survey them both with
extreme dignity.
"Oh, she hasn't said a single word," began Joel.
"Hush, Joel," said Polly. "Candace, do you really want Jocko; really and
truly?" and her eyes shone.
"Ob course I does;" Candace's head bobbed so decidedly that Polly had no
reason to doubt her. "I'm dre'ful lonesome and he'd be comp'ny," as she
swept the tears away with both hands.
"Oh, I'm so very, very glad you want Jocko!" cried Polly, hugging the
big figure. While Joel cried "Hooray!" And Pip, when he saw all things
turning out so well, emerged from the shelter of Polly's gown and piped
out "Hooray," because Joel did.
"But Jocko will work mischief, I'm afraid," and Polly's face fell
suddenly, "and just think, Candace, of all the nice things in your
shop."
But Candace was not to be balked. Having once set her heart on having
Jocko as a companion, she was now prepared to show how she had counted
the cost. So she drew herself up to her utmost height.
"Phoo!" she declared, snapping her stubby black fingers, "dat ar monkey
ain' a-goin' to hurt none ob my t'ings, Miss Polly. You know my ole
safe?"
"Yes," Polly did, a certain hanging wire arrangement where various
eatables were kept, to be free from the inspection of mice that were
rampant in the room behind the small shop.
"Well, I done clared dat ole safe all out dis berry mornin', soon's eber
I heard ob de trouble. Dat'll be a fine t'ing for Jocko to swing in,"
cried Candace, triumphantly.
"But where will you keep all your eatables?" said Polly, in amazement.
"Oh, honey," exclaimed Candace, impatiently, "I keeps 'em outside, ob
course."
"But the mice," suggested Polly, fearfully.
"Dar ain' goin' t' be no mice," declared Candace, decidedly, and
clapping her big hands together smartly. "Do you t'ink any mouse is
a-goin' to touch my t'ings when he can hear dat ar monkey a-singin' an'
carryin' on? No, sir, he ain'!"
"Well then," cried Polly, springing up, "I do so want you to have Jocko.
Oh, I do, Candace," and she clasped her hands. "If you are sure he won't
hurt your things and you really want him."
"I'm shore," declared Candace, solemnly. At this Joel bounded off, but
Pip decided to stay with Polly to see the matter through.
"How lovely!" and Polly's eyes sparkled, "that you want Jocko, and then,
just think, we can see him whenever we go to your shop, Candace." She
bestowed another hug on the broad shoulders, or so much of them as she
could compass.
"I know it, honey." Candace showed two rows of shining white teeth in a
broad smile. "An' den, w'en you ain' dar, w'y him an' me can talk, an'
it'll be real sosh'ble like."
"Yes," said Polly, quite as happy as Candace herself.
"He'll be sech comp'ny ebenin's," said Candace, folding her arms in
great satisfaction; "you see I gotter set up fer a spell, 'cause some
one might come in an' buy somethin'. Only las' week an' Mis' Hardin's
girl come in fer a spool o' tred. It's been mighty lonesome, Miss
Polly."
"So it must have been," said Polly, sympathetically, with a little
twinge of remorse that she hadn't thought of it before; "but then,
you've had your cat, Candace."